


Long Time Coming

by Snoweylily



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Max DeBryn, BAMF Peter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug, Endeavour Morse Whump, F/F, F/M, George Fancy Lives, Human Disaster Endeavour Morse, Hurt Endeavour Morse, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's a happy story, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Peter Jakes Backstory, Pirates, Self-Sacrificing Endeavour Morse, The Thursdays Adopt Endeavour Morse, they're all pirates - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26793439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoweylily/pseuds/Snoweylily
Summary: Jakes drew himself up to his full height and took a threatening step forward, one hand clutching the cigarette too tightly, and the other resting on his cutlass.If anything, this only spurred the brat on further.“Go ahead” Morse said, gesturing at the weapon, “Let’s see how wellthatworks out for you”.He took a deep breath, tried to block out unhelpful thoughts of stormy sea eyes, and forced himself to remain somewhat calm.“The second we reach land, you’re off my ship”.“The second weseeland, I’ll swim”.Or, the one where everyone's a pirate.
Relationships: Fred Thursday/Win Thursday, George Fancy/Shirley Trewlove, Jim Strange/Joan Thursday, Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 63
Kudos: 61





	1. Find

**Author's Note:**

> Fanart [here!](https://snoweylily.tumblr.com/post/630966351337570304/the-pirateau-that-nobody-asked-for-read-on)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes slowly strolled over, watching them shy away from the predator with the loping gait, just aching to sink his teeth in. His right hand was clenched in a fist at his side, the left equally tight, wrapped around the hilt of his cutlass, which he withdrew silently and casually swung back and forth as he walked.  
> If possible, the tension amongst the lords and ladies increased.  
> “There are very few kinds of people on this earth whom I hate” He began suddenly, “Murderers, for one. Rapists, tax collectors, the Royal Navy... but there is one particular type of monster that I despise even more”.  
> He came to a stop in front of them and they all tried to crawl away, but were quickly stopped by his crew.  
> “Child abusers”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, publishing new fics and completely and utterly ignoring the ones waiting for updates :)  
> Anyway, here's a Pirate AU cause apparently none currently exist and i needed it!  
> It's got whump!morse and angsty!jakes and a so-done-with-your-shit!debryn as well as a shipful of other loved characters (pun totally intended!)  
> Hope you enjoy!

**_Find_ **

Jakes hated these kinds of ships.

He hated how large they were, he hated how crowded they were, and most of all, he hated how _mistreated_ they were. The deck beneath his feet was sunburnt and splintering, the sails were grey with dirt, and the Union Jack hung limply from three quarter ways up the main mast.

Walking through the mass of huddled passengers, he ignored how they cowered away from him in fear. Once upon a time, that blatant terror would put him in a good mood for a _month_. But as his reputation fell, the bounty on his head rose, and now his name was known far and wide in these parts.

He paused in front of a young woman, who immediately cried out and clutched her jewel necklace closer to her chest, the perfect representation of the wealthy, materialistic nobility onboard.

 _Christ_ , he hated these kinds of ships.

Full of the upper class, rich enough to pay sailors to look the other way. Below deck was one vast illegal festivity, full of alcohol from the south and opioids from the west as English lords and ladies travelled east to the New World.

On the other hand, it _did_ mean quite a lot of high-priced stock all in one place, and managing to pillage even just one of these ships brought in more income than five merchant vessels put together. Jewels, silver, and gold all had a quick turnaround, and the fine food and alcohol kept his crew happy, after all.

Either way, it all boiled down to Jakes never passing up the opportunity to capture this particular type of passenger ship.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

* * *

Passing Strange, he raised a solitary eyebrow, and his Quartermaster nodded in return.

All passengers and sailors were accounted for then, rounded up in shivering huddles on deck and guarded by a handful of pirates, while the rest of his crew searched for valuables and food.

Ducking below deck, he headed for the front of the ship, knowing from experience that only the richest of passengers were given rooms there, with wide portholes that overlooked the sea. He saw Trewlove disappear into one of the cabins, and used his pistol to nudge open the next door up.

Empty.

Stepping into the room, he slowly looked around, taking in the rumbled bedsheets and still flickering candles. His crew had gotten these people up in a hurry, then, and he felt a warm coiling of satisfaction in his stomach at the thought. Heading straight for the vanity table, he quickly yet meticulously began rifling through drawers and jewellery boxes, coming up with quite a few precious stones and gems. There were a pair of breeches never before worn, sensible women's shoes, and half a dozen linen shirts that could be used to repair the sails if nothing else.

Gathering everything up into a small bundle, he left it on the desk, before turning to explore the rest of the room and-

 _Froze_.

Jakes blinked.

Blinked again.

And then swiftly rubbed his eyes for good measure.

In front of him, on the other side of the bed and quite invisible from the cabin door, was a... _boy?!_

He took a cautious step forward.

The boy didn't move, remaining curled up in a tight little ball on the unforgiving wooden floor. Jakes cleared his throat pointedly, but there was still no response. Frowning now, he made his way closer, pistol drawn and the other hand on his cutlass, just in case. He crouched down next to the strange sight, and slowly reached out to pull the boy's arms away from his face.

His eyes were closed.

"Shit".

Dropping his weapon, he searched blindly for a pulse, and when he couldn't find it, he lowered the boy's arms and rolled him onto his back instead, yanking open his threadbare shirt to see if he was breathing.

He was.

But that wasn't all.

Jakes stared with a sort of morbid fascination as his rough treatment caused half-healed wounds to reopen, blood bubbling from the stranger's chest and drawing lines down his skin, curving over prominent ribs and blue and yellow splotches before silently dripping onto the wood below. Beneath the gruesome artwork was a multitude of scars, some years and _years_ old, some only a few weeks.

It was ongoing, then.

He took a deep breath, willed himself to remain calm, and then tapped the side of the boy's face as gently yet purposefully as he could.

It took a long minute before his eyelashes flickered, and even then, they only opened halfway. But it was enough for Jakes to see how his pupils were practically non-existent.

Drugged.

 _Christ_ , Thursday never had to deal with something like this.

He gave a self-depreciating smirk.

No, Thursday just had to deal with _him_.

Leaning back on his haunches, he considered the stranger in front of him. He needed a doctor, that was for sure, and something told him that the sailors couldn't be held accountable for that. And considering that it was whoever owned this room that had _done_ this to the boy in the first place, and had likely been doing so for quite some time, it was safe to say that the passengers wouldn't help him either.

Which only left one option.

He scowled half-heartedly at the unconscious form as he stood, before making his way to the cabin door and sticking his head out to try and find someone. He was in luck; Trewlove was just leaving her own pillaged room, a rucksack of goods draped over one shoulder.

She nodded once, "Captain".

"Get the doctor".

She immediately frowned, taking a concerned step forward, "The _doctor?_ Surely you haven't-"

"It's not for me".

She opened her mouth, a hundred and one questions on her tongue, before thinking better of it, curbing her curiosity, and nodding again.

"Yes sir".

Jakes watched her dash off with tendrils of pride in his chest.

He always _had_ liked that girl.

* * *

Returning to the room, he considered the stranger for a moment, before shrugging and continuing his search for gold and alcohol. It wasn't like he could do anything for him right now, after all, so he might as well continue the raiding he'd originally come in here for.

A neat row of vials caught his attention on a shelf above the mirror, and he went over to investigate. More than half were empty, but none of them were labelled. Curious, he picked one up, opened it and took a sniff. His nose immediately wrinkled in disgust.

 _Bitter_.

The door opened behind him.

"Sergeant?"

He picked up a full bottle.

"Other side of the bed".

That one smelt the same as well. They all did, in fact.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him.

" _Good god_ ".

Turning to face the doctor, he watched as he stared in shock at the bloody and bruised stranger for a moment, before quickly jumping into action, kneeling down next to him and reaching for his wrist.

"... Unconscious" DeBryn announced, "But not naturally, though there doesn't appear to be any head wound".

"Opium".

He blinked and glanced up at him, "Opium?"

Jakes held up the vial in his hand.

"Laudanum, by the looks of it. Quite liberal use, too".

DeBryn swore and turned back to the boy, "Well... At least that'll make moving him easier".

"Moving him, doc?"

He got a raised eyebrow in return, "You're not suggesting that we _leave_ him here?"

"He's not dying".

"He's being _abused!_ "

Jakes flinched, sharply, and the doctor immediately softened.

"... I'm sorry, Sarge, but I can't in good consciousness leave him aboard this ship. Either _he's_ coming with us, or _I'm_ staying here".

"And be arrested for piracy the second they port?"

"I'm a doctor first, pirate _second_ " He countered, "Who's to say I wasn't captured? Held against my will? It's happened before".

Jakes studied him for a minute, and then let his gaze drift lower to the cause of all this strife.

The boy was beaten, bruised, bloody… _abused_ , as the doctor had said.

"It's another mouth to feed".

They had the chance to rescue him, to save him from this life of misery.

"Box is gone, so we're down a man anyway".

And hadn't he always wished that somebody had saved _him?_

"... _Fine_ " He snapped, "Get Strange to carry him onboard. But I better not see _hide nor hair_ of him until we drop him off at the next safe port!"

"I doubt he's currently able to do much anyway".

Jakes stared at the limp form for another minute, all sorts of unpleasant memories being drawn to the forefront of his mind, all of his past replaying on a loop thanks to this- this- this _bastard!_

… This _abused_ bastard.

This _boy_.

He ran a heavy hand over his face.

" _Fuck_ ".

DeBryn smirked, "That just about sums it up, yes".

* * *

Walking back up to the main deck, Jakes tried to bury his anger with no success.

He wasn't known for being kind, but he was _always_ just. Unfortunately for that boy's abusers, however, his justness wasn't going to end well for them. It felt like he was slowly burning from the inside out, an itch thrumming just below the surface that wouldn't quit, an itch that he knew _wouldn't_ subside until he could taste their fear on his tongue and feel their blood on his skin.

He headed straight for Strange and gave a jerk of his head towards the stairs. The man took one long look at him, recognised his barely constrained fury, and was wise to immediately do as told.

Taking a deep breath, Jakes turned to survey the crowd in front of him.

The sailors he could immediately rule out, as well as the servants to the rich. The middle class wouldn't have been given a room like that, which only left the _high and mighty_ nobility, all grouped together in the middle of the deck.

He slowly strolled over, watching them shy away from the predator with the loping gait, just _aching_ to sink his teeth in. His right hand was clenched in a fist at his side, the left equally tight, wrapped around the hilt of his cutlass, which he withdrew silently and casually swung back and forth as he walked.

If possible, the tension amongst the lords and ladies increased.

"There are very few kinds of people on this earth whom I _hate_ " He began suddenly, "Murderers, for one. Rapists, tax collectors, the Royal Navy... but there is _one_ particular type of _monster_ that I despise even _more_ ".

He came to a stop in front of them and they all tried to crawl away, but were quickly stopped by his crew.

" _Child abusers_ ".

Jakes began pacing back and forth in front of the crying crowd.

"And one of you, or, far more likely, _two_ , have been found _guilty_... What shall we do about that, hm?" He asked, "I don't enjoy mindless killing, and I was perfectly happy in letting you all go once we took what we needed. _Now_ , however... Well, you never know, maybe the monsters will step forward".

"The only monster here is _you!_ "

He stilled, a slow grin spreading across his face as he turned to face the woman who had spoken.

She had a round face, suspicious eyes, and a sour mouth.

_Guilty._

"Perhaps" He allowed, "But it takes a special kind of _wickedness_ to hurt a child".

"He's not a _child!_ " She snapped, "He's an abomination! A- A devil spawn!"

_Oh, and weren't those words familiar?_

He studied her closely, taking in the coiffed hair and the fancy dress and the gold band around her ring finger. He was right, then. There were two of them.

"Where is your husband?"

"What?"

"Your husband" He repeated patiently, "Where is he?"

The rest of the nobility astutely avoided his gaze, and he sighed.

"Perhaps a little motivation, then".

With one fluid movement, he drew the end of his cutlass against her throat, and she gave a startled cry.

" _No!_ "

Jakes smirked, and turned to the white-haired man who'd half gotten to his feet.

"How gracious of you to join us, _sir_ " He remarked, "Tell me, do you feel justified in what you did?"

He swallowed thickly, nervous and sweating, but answered strongly.

"That freak deserved everything he got!"

 _Perfect_.

"Stand up. Both of you".

One flash of the blade had them scrambling to comply.

"Walk with me".

Heading for the side of the ship, he deftly undid some of the rigging holding the sails in place, and weighted the rope in his hands. It felt strong enough, but even if it _did_ snap... _Oh well_. He wouldn't lose much sleep over it.

"Are- Are you going to- to throw us over?" the woman asked fearfully, clutching her husband's hand tightly.

"No" He answered honestly.

They both sighed in relief.

He gave a bland smile, "But I'm going to make you wish that I had".

* * *

Jakes gestured for the man to step forward, which he reluctantly did. He tied one end of the rope around the man's wrists, tight enough to cut off circulation, and then carried the other end to the opposite side of the ship, tying it onto the railing. Turning back to the man, he dragged him to the very edge of the deck, pulling the rope taut.

"Stand up on the railing".

He gave him a fearful yet bewildered look.

Jakes pointed his cutlass at the woman's neck.

"Stand on the railing, _now!_ "

The other passengers looked on, confused, but both the sailors and his own crew shifted uneasily, knowing _exactly_ what was about to happen. The man awkwardly climbed up, balancing precariously with his hands tied, facing the sea. Jakes lent close, despite the height difference.

"If I were you?" He whispered, "I'd take a deep breath".

He kicked him overboard.

The woman immediately screamed and rushed for the railing, crying and shouting as her husband disappeared beneath the waves.

Jakes smirked, satisfied, and took a step back.

"Come along, my lady".

He half-guided half-dragged her across the deck to the opposite railing where the rope remained tied, the other end vanishing beneath the waves, still tied to the man now being dragged below the ship, underneath the haul, and over and up the other side.

Keelhauling wasn't a punishment often doled out, and not one that Jakes had ever done himself before, though he'd seen many unfortunate souls who'd suffered from it over the years. The victim was weighted down and hauled across the ship's side, which was littered with barnacles and shells, sharp enough to slice through clothing and leave scorching marks across every inch of skin. If they weren't killed from drowning, they'd likely die from their subsequent wounds, and those who survived both, usually lost a limb or two as a result.

It was the very _least_ the man deserved.

Jakes yawned, the beast beneath his skin finally sated.

"Time?"

One of his men answered.

"One minute, Sarge".

He reached for the rope.

"Good enough".

Untying it, he immediately felt the weight of the man tied to its other end, and he dug in his heels to keep himself upright. The woman would very likely be unable to carry the load, but... well, she should have thought of that before hurting the boy, really.

He held the rope out to her, annoyed by her unnecessary sobbing and hunched over frame.

"Take it".

She stared at him through bloodshot eyes.

"I- What? Take- Take it? I- I don't- I _can't-_ I-"

He rolled his eyes, tugged her forwards, and shoved the rope into her hands. She was immediately jerked forwards by the weight, but he was prepared for it, and grabbed her around the waist to yank her back.

"Either you pull that rope" He said quietly, "Or your husband drowns. _Do you understand?_ "

She quickly nodded, arms straining from the weight as he let her go, tears streaming down her face, hair askew, and dress torn.

It was the least _she_ deserved, too.

* * *

Stepping back, he turned to face the terrified group, knowing that the horror stories attached to his name didn't even come _close_ to what he was now doing.

That didn't bother him too much either.

"Fancy" He called, waving the young man over.

"Sarge?"

"Did we get all we need?"

He grinned, "More than".

"Good. Start packing things up, I want us gone in the next half hour" He ordered, "Strange is back onboard with the doctor, so you don't need to account for them".

"Captain" He nodded, turning to go.

Jakes glanced over at the woman, who was now collapsed on the deck, straining against the railing and wailing loudly as her hands bled from the rope.

"One more thing".

Fancy looked back at him; eyebrows raised.

He nodded at the pitiful excuse for a human.

"Help a lady out, would you?"

He didn't wait for them to haul the man's body back onboard, and instead went below deck to collect the valuables he'd left in their cabin earlier. The room was empty, the boy now onboard his own ship, and although Jakes was far from a bleeding heart and _really_ didn't want to deal with the hassle of it all, he found that he couldn't regret his decision to take him with them.

Trust DeBryn to set him straight.

Shaking his head, he gathered up the bundle of jewels and clothes, spent a second too long staring at the blood-stained floor where the boy had once lain, and then returned to the main deck.

As slim as Fancy was, he was also one of the strongest of the crew, and in the few minutes that Jakes had left, he'd pulled the man back onboard.

He was somewhat disappointed to find him still alive.

Slowly walking over, he took in the ripped clothes, the deep wounds, and the watery blood dripping off his face, chest, legs, _everywhere_. The man was coughing, choking up the sea, and his wife was collapsed next to him, still crying and still bleeding where the rope had burned through her hands and arms, tearing skin and muscle and leaving nothing but pain in its wake.

Jakes was finally at peace.

The itch beneath the surface had been scratched, the anger he'd felt since finding the boy was gone, and the dark restlessness he'd felt for what seemed like _forever_ had finally dispersed.

He handed the bundle of valuables to Fancy and told him to re-join the others on their own ship. It had been a job well done. They had clothes, jewels, food and water; more than enough to last the next few weeks. They'd left just enough behind for the passengers to make it to port, too, if they rationed, but based on the rich fools onboard, they'd never rationed anything a day in their life.

It was about time they learned.

* * *

The woman looked up at him from behind furious teary eyes.

"What? What do you want? What else could you possibly _do?!_ "

"Kill you" He replied evenly, "But that would be far too kind".

"I'll kill _him!_ " She howled, "The next time I see that _freak_ , I'll kill him!"

"You're welcome to try" He said, somewhat amused, " _If_ you can find him".

"You took him?"

"Probably a bad decision, I know... But it can't be any worse than leaving him here".

Jakes ran a dispassionate gaze over the unconscious and blood-stained man, and then turned back to the woman's just as bloody hands.

In more sense than one.

"If you do ever find him again" He suddenly began, "If you ever lay so much as one _finger_ on his head... then I _will_ kill you, and it won't be quick".

Turning for his ship, Jakes was pleased to find the rest of his crew onboard and waiting to cast off.

"I'll still kill him!" the woman screamed after him, "I don't care who you are or what you've done, _I swear to god I'll kill him_ , even if it's the last thing I do!"

Which it would be.

He thought he'd covered that bit pretty well...

Jakes shook his head, returned onboard, and cut the line tying their ships with a quick flash of his blade.

 _Christ_ , he needed a cigarette.


	2. Meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jakes snarled at him.  
> "I'm your _captain_ ".  
> "You will _never_ be my captain!"  
> His hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, and when he spoke his voice was deadly quiet.  
> "Do you not have _any idea_ who I am?"  
> The boy turned, glanced him up and down, and then smirked.  
> "A posh git in a tricorn?"

**_Meet_ **

Jakes scanned the charts in front of him, a cigarette in his mouth and three others burnt out in a glass bowl that had once belonged to a duke. He hadn't slept well, not liking the idea of a stranger aboard his ship, and now he was trying, and failing, to work out the maps in front of him. Their last sailing master, Box, had bailed out at the last port, _the coward_ , and there was no one else on board who had any idea how the damn navigation structure worked.

Including the captain himself.

It wasn't as if the old drunk had been any good at this sort of thing either, all bravado and arrogance, but he at least knew enough to make sure that they didn't sail into any reefs or certain countries they wanted to avoid. He had been violent and loud, and Jakes had decided fairly quick that he'd learn what he could from the man and then kick him off. But Box didn't even last long enough for that to happen, and now here he was, down one man and endlessly sailing towards what he _hoped_ was a port in the Caribbean where he could hire someone more qualified.

The crude map drawings hurt his head and the numbers made his eyes bleed.

Jakes swore loudly, and with one furious sweep of his hand, sent compasses and ship logs clattering to the floor below.

"Shall I come back some other time?"

He glanced over his shoulder as the door to the navigation room was cautiously opened, and DeBryn stepped in.

"No" He bit out, "I was done in here anyway".

"I can see that" He replied, looking around the destroyed room, "Was it always this messy, or are you just having a bad day?"

" _Both!_ " He snapped, shoving past him, "If you want to talk then keep up".

The doctor looked like he was going to roll his eyes at him, but at the last minute held back, and Jakes felt like it was a good decision for both of them.

"I thought you might like to know how our resident _unknown_ is getting on".

"You thought wrong".

"He's been here over twelve hours now, and you haven't visited him once".

Jakes kicked open the door to his quarters.

"Has he died?"

"No".

"Has he woken up?"

"Yes".

He paused, and glanced back at the doctor.

DeBryn gave him a knowing smirk.

"But he's yet to be lucid, if that's what you meant".

"You know full well that's _exactly_ what I meant".

The older man sat at his table without asking, and Jakes bitterly realised that if anyone else in the crew so much as dared to think about doing so, he'd kick them out before they could even _blink_.

DeBryn was different, though.

DeBryn had known him as a teenager.

... It was kind of hard to be imposing and domineering to the man who'd seen him cry after his first breakup.

So, he poured them both a stiff drink, and then collapsed down in the chair across from him.

"He has no lasting injuries, thankfully, though it'll still be a few days, if not weeks, before he's back to full health".

He stared at him blankly.

"I don't care, _doc_ ".

DeBryn raised a single eyebrow.

"Too bad, _Sarge_ ".

Jakes sighed, heavily, and downed his glass in one.

"He has the usual scrapes and bruises you'd expect in a case like this. A few minor lacerations that'll heal quick enough if treated properly. No broken ribs from what I can tell, though I suspect two or three are bruised. The drugs, of course, were my main concern, but thankfully he seems to have shaken off the worst of the opium overnight. His right wrist is sprained, so I've wrapped it to speed up the healing process, but from what I can tell… he just needs time".

"Still don't care".

The older man continued as if he'd never spoken.

"He woke up, briefly, during the night, but wasn't altogether _there_. Started mumbling about heaven and hell".

"Oh _Christ_ ".

"Not quite" He smirked, "Milton, actually".

"What?"

"John Milton. Wrote Paradise Lost?"

Jakes stared at him.

"You're telling me he's half _unconscious_ and half _delirious_ and he starts quoting _poetry?!_ "

"So it would seem".

He poured himself another drink.

"Oh good, here I was thinking he was a religious fanatic, when in fact, he's a far more basic _lunatic_ ".

"No more mad than you or I, Sarge".

"Not exactly reassuring, doc".

DeBryn smiled, either silently agreeing or unwilling to comment, before finally taking a sip of his own whiskey.

"Still though, quoting Milton by heart? He's clearly intelligent".

"Obviously not intelligent enough to escape".

"Were you?"

He gave him a sideways look, but the doctor refused to back away.

"… Our situations were different".

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not".

"Meaning?"

The doctor had an honest-to-god _twinkle_ in his eyes.

"Meaning you won't know until you talk to the lad".

* * *

DeBryn's words stuck with him throughout the rest of the day, despite his best intentions on sorting out the navigation room. He wasn't going to go see the stranger yet, he _couldn't_ , partly because he didn't want to but also partly because he'd be damned if he proved the doctor right.

Still though.

There was some truth in those words.

As uncaring as he made himself seem, there was still this tiny little corner in his heart that just _ached_ for the boy. He tried to tell himself that it was human nature to care for wounded creatures, despite his traitorous mind constantly reminding him that he didn't sympathise with the boy; he _empathised_. It was a losing battle.

Either way, it meant that he eventually gave into the urge of wanting to see the stranger, but he made it a point to wait until everyone else was at dinner before doing so.

What DeBryn didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Jakes silently strode across the deck, glancing around once before ducking below and walking the length of the ship to the small infirmary room tucked in at the end. He opened the door slowly, knowing that the doctor was in the mess but remaining cautious just in case. Thankfully, DeBryn was nowhere in sight.

He quietly slipped into the room, glad to see that it was already well lit, the fading light outside contributing to the long shadows being cast across the wooden walls.

Jakes didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved that the stranger was sound asleep on the rickety cot.

He stared at him for a moment, taking in the sun kissed skin and white bandages and tawny coloured hair. He looked strangely _young_ , now that the blood and dirt had been cleaned away, but still older than Jakes had expected. Definitely late teens, but more likely early-to-mid twenties.

Old enough to leave the situation he'd been in, that's for sure.

Jakes scoffed and turned back to the door. He had no time for idiots, or _do gooders_ either, so whatever reason the boy had for staying with people like those…

He shook his head. They were _nothing_ alike. DeBryn had been wrong after all…

There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

* * *

He had one hand on the door handle and the other searching his pockets for cigarettes when he heard the rustle of sheets behind him.

Jakes froze.

There was a creak of wood, more movement of cloth, and then sudden silence as the boy no doubt caught sight of him.

 _Fuck_.

He swallowed thickly and then reluctantly turned back to face the stranger.

Ocean blue eyes pinned him in place immediately.

Jakes felt his breath catch.

A reflection of the outside world stared back at him, endless and foreign, fathomless depths that betrayed nothing below the surface, capable of changing at any moment, a near exact replica of the Atlantic Ocean on which they sailed.

_He could drown in that gaze._

"... Hello".

He quickly shook himself out of it.

"Wotcher".

"I..."

The boy trailed off as he glanced around the small room.

"... What am I doing here?"

"Healing, I'd hope".

"You're a doctor?"

Turbulent eyes latched onto his once more.

"No" He snorted, "Quite the opposite, in fact".

"... Did you bring me here?"

"My crew did. Not me".

"You're the captain".

He gave him an appraising look.

"And you're quite sharp".

The boy flushed and ducked his head, and Jakes was all too painfully aware of how similarly _he_ had first reacted to positive reinforcement.

"I'm on your ship then?"

"Looks like it".

"... Thank you".

He sighed and pulled out a box of matches to light a cigarette.

"Don't mention it".

"No, I- I have to-"

" _Hey_ " He snapped, "Really. _Don't_ mention it".

He frowned.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't _want_ you to!" He scowled, " _Christ_ , the last thing I need is rumours saying I've gone _soft_ ".

"Oh" He blinked, "Who are you, exactly?"

He took a long drag from the cigarette.

"Captain Peter Jakes" He smirked, "Perhaps you've heard of me?"

* * *

He took a special sort of delight in seeing the dozen emotions that flashed across the man's face in quick succession.

But, of course, the brat couldn't even do _that_ like everyone else either.

Fear, hatred, and disgust he was well used to.

Shock and disbelief, he'd come across a few times.

But then there was this- this- _curiosity_ that the stupid stupid brat _finished_ with that was now _getting on his nerves._

* * *

" _What?!_ " He eventually snapped.

"Nothing!" He quickly replied, "I just... You're a pirate".

"So you _have_ heard of me".

" _Everyone's_ heard of you".

Jakes frowned.

"You know, somehow, that sounded suspiciously like an _insult_ ".

"As opposed to…?"

"A compliment. Obviously. _Brat_ ".

"I'm not a child so don't _call_ me that!" He scowled, "And of course it was an insult, why the hell would I _compliment_ you?!"

"I just saved your life!"

"Uh, no, actually, your _crew_ just saved my life. You were _very_ clear about that".

"I didn't have to let them. This is _my_ ship".

"And last I heard, _majority rules_ " He shot back, "You said 'crew', meaning more than one. Which means you're already outnumbered".

"You're talking of mutiny".

"Good of you to notice".

"I could have you hanged for that".

"After all your crew's hard work in keeping me alive?" He scoffed, "Like I said. Majority rules".

"My crew are loyal to _me_ ".

"Anyone can be loyal to an _idiot_ ".

Jakes drew himself up to his full height and took a threatening step forward, one hand clutching the cigarette too tightly, and the other resting on his cutlass.

If anything, this only spurred the brat on further.

"Go ahead" He said, gesturing at the weapon, "Let's see how well _that_ works out for you".

He took a deep breath, tried to block out unhelpful thoughts of stormy sea eyes, and forced himself to remain somewhat calm.

"The second we reach land, you're off my ship".

"The second we _see_ land, I'll swim".

* * *

They stared at each other, ocean and earth, neither man willing to back down.

"Who were they?"

It was a low blow, but Jakes never claimed to fight fair. He did feel slightly guilty, however, when the boy flinched back and immediately looked away.

"Who were who?"

"Don't play dumb with me".

"No, you've got that pretty much covered yourself".

"Were you sold to them?" He pressed, ignoring the muttered remark, "Traded, perhaps? Won in a game of _Patience_ , was it?"

"Of course not!" He said hotly.

"Then who the hell _were_ they?!"

He bit his lip and avoided his gaze, and Jakes wondered if he'd see actual water in those ocean eyes when the boy next looked up. He wanted to make a remark about his sharp tongue being the reason he was regularly beaten in the first place, but he also knew that that would _definitely_ cause salty water to overflow, and for some strange reason, Jakes didn't want that to happen.

"Alright then. You don't want to say" He replied quietly, "Care to explain what they hold over you, instead?"

He remained silent.

"You weren't tied up, where we found you. Drugged to the gills, yes, but if _that_ were your default state, then you'd be dead by now... You weren't physically being kept there".

" _Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage_ ".

That sounded like something DeBryn would say.

"Stone what?"

The boy gave a sad smile, but didn't answer.

"Look, they must have _something_ on you, otherwise you wouldn't stay" He continued, "Unless you really _are_ stupid, and just enjoy getting _beaten_ on a regular basis".

"I wouldn't expect you to understand".

_And wasn't that just ironic?_

"Try me".

The boy slowly shook his head, and Jakes took a calming breath, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the side of the wooden door frame.

"Fine. Then I _order_ you to tell me".

His head immediately shot up, and he felt vaguely pleased that the sea wasn't overflowing.

"What?"

"I order you" He repeated, "I'll even give you a choice. Question one or question two. Which do you want to answer?"

"Neither!"

"Sorry, not an option" He taunted, "Which is it to be? Who did it or why?"

"I don't have to answer you" He snapped.

"Yes, actually, _you do_. I'm in charge here-"

"Well, you're not in charge of _me!_ "

Jakes paused, taking in his defensive stance and wild eyes. As bloody _infuriating_ as the brat was, he couldn't help but feel somewhat glad that he still _could_ talk back, despite everything he'd gone through. That spark was irritating, yes, but it was also reassuring. The boy could still fight. He wasn't a lost cause yet.

"I'm in charge of you until we reach port".

"I didn't _ask_ to be here".

"Would you rather I left you behind?"

"I- It's not- You're still not in _charge_ of me!"

"I'm your _captain_ ".

"You will _never_ be my captain!"

His hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, and when he spoke his voice was deadly quiet.

"Do you not have _any idea_ who I am?"

The boy turned, glanced him up and down, and then smirked.

"A posh git in a tricorn?"

* * *

The sound of the slamming door reverberated throughout the ship.

* * *

Jakes forced himself to walk away, even as he drew his cutlass and vowed to strike down anyone who so much as _looked_ at him in the immediate future. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he turned with a growl, both annoyed and relieved to find that it was DeBryn who appeared at the bottom.

Annoyed because he was one of the few people onboard that Jakes _didn't_ actually want to kill.

And relieved because if it _had_ been anyone else, then the unprovoked murder wouldn't have been good for the crew's morale.

"Sarge?" He asked, clearly concerned, eyes flickering between the infirmary door and his obviously furious stance.

"You better keep him in that room, doc" He snarled, storming past, "Or I swear to _Christ_ I'll kill him myself!"


	3. Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse took a deep breath, "... I'm not a big fan of blood".  
> He stared at him.  
> And blinked.  
> Then snorted.  
> "I know" Morse sighed, "One of life's great ironies, huh?"  
> "I don't know, it could be worse. You could be scared of water, for instance. Or pirates".  
> "Well, sorry to break it to you, captain, but you're just not all that scary".

_**Talk** _

DeBryn cautiously entered the infirmary, unsure of what he'd find, but based on Jakes' fury, most likely a body. He was therefore pleasantly surprised when he found his patient not only still alive, but sitting up and staring out of the small porthole next to the cot. This was one of the few rooms below deck still high up enough to have some form of window, and he could see the blue ocean beyond.

Closing the door behind him, the boy startled, but then spun around, clearly furious, mouth partly opened in preparation of a verbal lashing, before suddenly stilling.

He blinked, straightened up, and then gave a sheepish smile.

"Sorry… I thought you were _him_ ".

"Him?" He asked mildly.

"The captain. Jakes, or whatever".

"You two didn't get along, then?"

"That's one way of putting it".

The boy turned back to the water, but DeBryn could tell that his attention was still firmly on the doctor, ready to listen to him, ready to react if necessary… ready to run.

It reminded him _all too well_ of another traumatised young man he'd once stitched up, and he _desperately_ hoped that the two of them would put their differences aside and actually _talk_.

"The Sarge can be… prickly" He admitted, gathering clean bandages and adhesive tape, "But he's a good man, and good to his crew".

"I'm not his crew".

"In his eyes, you are. And you will be, until we reach port".

The boy turned as he approached, his distrustful gaze the same colour as the world outside and making him look far _far_ too young. Then his focus latched onto the supplies in his hands, and he relaxed marginally.

"You're the doctor".

"I am" He agreed, "Max DeBryn".

"Morse".

" _Just_ Morse?"

"Just Morse".

He nodded in acceptance and held up the bandages, "May I?"

The boy, _Morse_ , reluctantly nodded, and turned so the doctor wouldn't have to twist awkwardly to change the dressings.

"You said he's a good man, but he looked like he was going to kill me".

"He wanted to".

"And held himself back?" He said dryly, "How noble".

DeBryn frowned, "He's not… Captain Jakes is different than what you'd expect. Not half as wild as the rumours are, I assure you. He just... gets riled up easily, and he's not the best at expressing that anger".

Morse snorted, "He had a _hand_ on his _sword!_ "

"And yet he didn't draw it until _after_ he'd left the room… Quite surprising restraint, on his behalf".

"Do you expect me to congratulate him for not _killing_ me?!"

"Of course not" DeBryn replied, easily seeing now how the quick witted lad had managed to infuriate Jakes so much, "But dragging a stranger onto his ship makes him worry for the safety of his crew, _as it should._ You just happened to be the unfortunate soul he took that out on".

The boy was still unconvinced, so the doctor sighed as he finished unwrapping the old bandages, and waited until he had his full attention before speaking.

"Jakes may be ruthless, harsh, and occasionally violent… But he's _not_ heartless" He swore, "He's not cruel, despite what you may think".

"How do you know?"

"Trust me".

" _Why?!_ "

DeBryn paused, "Yes. _Why_ , indeed… Fair enough, I suppose... But I first met that lad when he was just two weeks shy of eighteen".

Morse gave him a surprised yet curious look and he smiled in response.

"I _know_ him" He said simply, "But you don't. And you don't know me. And you have no reason to trust either of us… But if you can't trust my actions, Morse, then at least trust my words".

"... He's not cruel?"

"Doesn't even come _close_ ".

The boy slowly nodded, not convinced by half but at least willing to give the captain the benefit of the doubt, and honestly, that's all DeBryn could hope for right now.

* * *

"Well then, let's move onto less tenuous topics, shall we?" He teased, picking up the new roll of bandages, "There's actually something I wanted to talk to you about".

He immediately tensed, obviously expecting the worst, and the doctor felt a sharp pang in his heart at the fearful defensiveness. _That_ conversation would have to wait for another day.

"' _The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven'_ ".

Morse was surprised out of his apprehension, and his eyebrows furrowed as he thought for a moment.

"… Milton" He finally said, and DeBryn smiled, "You were muttering it, last night".

"I don't remember".

"You wouldn't. The amount of opium in your system made sure of that".

He made a face and scowled.

The doctor continued to work and patiently waited.

"… It wasn't even the drugs themselves" He suddenly said, "It was the- the bloody _taste_ of them".

"Bitter".

He nodded, stormy gaze a mile away, and DeBryn thought it best to distract him.

"I'm more of a Donne man, myself. _'No man is an island'_ , and all that".

"Rather an odd outlook for a pirate".

"Ah, but I wasn't _always_ a pirate, now, was I?"

Morse finally turned back to him, restless tempestuous blue slowly settling into a smooth clearness.

"What were you? On land?"

"Well, I was always a doctor, but I used to focus more on anatomy".

"As in autopsy?"

"Pathology, if you will" DeBryn replied, smirking as the boy paled and seemed to shrink back.

"Squeamish, are we? You know, there's a word for people like you, Morse".

"Is there?"

"Necrophobic".

"A word for people like you too, I imagine" He replied evenly, "Anglo-Saxon, though, rather than Greek".

He found himself blinking in surprise, sure hands stilling as the boy gazed back at him with glittering eyes.

"… Not entirely a fool, then?"

"Not entirely".

DeBryn found himself full-on _grinning_ as he taped the last bandage in place. It was rare he came across someone who had the same interest in poetry and classics as he did, and he could safely say that _none_ of those people currently resided onboard. It was about damn time that he met somebody who could keep up.

"There" He said, giving a cursory glance over the rest of the wounds, "Those should be fine until tomorrow morning, but they're going to be tight and quite tender for the next few days. So, bed rest, and don't exert yourself overmuch".

"By doing what?" He asked wryly, "Yelling at the captain?"

And yet despite his amused tone, DeBryn couldn't help but feel like that was _exactly_ what Morse was going to do.

* * *

It was late before Jakes left the navigation room that night. His argument with the brat had left him in a foul mood, bad enough for him to realise that it was safer for everyone if he just kept himself away from the rest of the ship. At least the tiny cupboard of a room was now _somewhat_ ordered, though being honest, he had no idea if everything was in its right place or not. There was equipment that he'd never seen before, maps for oceans that even _he_ didn't recognise, and curious drawings of sea monsters wrapped around various islands he now wanted to explore.

He yawned, stretched, and then blew out the candle on the desk as he stood. He could find his way around a ship blindfolded, which was helpful for dark nights like this. Making his way above deck, he stood for a moment, watching as dark clouds passed across the sky before finally revealing the moon. It cast a pale, almost ghostly, glow across the ship, making innocent roping look like serpents and barrels like looming assailants. He could just about see the glint of a spyglass from high up the main mast where tonight's lookout stood guard. Turning, he headed for his own quarters, wanting nothing more than to collapse in his bunk and sleep till dawn.

He was half way there when he saw him.

At the very edge of the quarterdeck, half hidden behind the helm and with both hands on the wooden railing, stood the boy.

The _brat_ , Jakes quickly corrected, resuming his walk. The brat that was very much _not allowed_ on his quarterdeck. He bypassed the door to his cabin, already mourning the loss, and instead climbed the three steps to march over to the stranger to yell.

But then he caught sight of the pure _awe_ in his face, with the black ocean in front of him and the wind blowing through his hair, and Jakes distantly wondered when the boy had last been allowed outside.

His anger began to dissipate at the thought, and with every step he found himself becoming less and less annoyed and more and more… well… _intrigued_.

He stopped next to the boy, putting a safe three feet between them, and tried to see what he was seeing. He recalled old memories of when he'd first seen the beauty that was the Atlantic himself, and how amazed he'd felt when he first saw the ocean on a calm night. It wasn't difficult, staring at the endless stretch of liberty ahead of him, and Jakes found himself falling in love with the waves all over again.

The boy made no motion to leave when he saw him, keeping his gaze firmly on the swaying water in front of him, hands clenching and unclenching on the railing, strands of auburn hair flowing softly in the wind. Jakes knew that look, knew what freedom felt like for the first time, knew what it was to suddenly realise I'm my own person now and _no one_ will ever take that from me again.

It was quite some time before either of them spoke.

* * *

"Morse".

Jakes turned at the sudden sound.

"My name" the boy explained, still not looking at him, "It's Morse… Figured you might as well know, since I'm apparently here for a while".

"No first name?"

"None that I care for".

"… Well, it's better than brat, I guess".

He didn't know what prompted him to joke with the boy, considering five hours previous he very much wanted to kill him, but he was glad that he did when he caught a flash of white teeth and moonlit eyes.

"I suppose I should call you by your given name as well, then, rather than what I've been calling you in my head".

"What have you been calling me in your head?"

"A right bastard".

The blatant admission startled a laugh from him, and Jakes was surprised himself by the sound. It had been a _long_ time since he'd genuinely laughed.

"I should have you whipped for that".

"Gross insubordination, is it?"

"Something like that, yea".

Morse glanced over at him, a teasing glint in his limitless eyes, and Jakes had to fight back a smile.

"I told the doctor to keep you in the infirmary" He said, turning back to the ocean.

"DeBryn isn't my keeper".

"No" He agreed, "Your keepers are currently somewhere in the Atlantic and possibly dead".

The boy froze.

"… _Possibly?_ "

He studied him closely.

"I assume you've heard of keelhauling?"

He looked vaguely sick. Jakes glared.

"What, don't tell me you think that they didn't _deserve_ it?!"

"No, _no,_ it's not that, I just-" He took a deep breath, "... I'm not a big fan of blood".

He stared at him.

And blinked.

Then snorted.

"I know" Morse sighed, "One of life's great ironies, huh?"

"I don't know, it could be worse. You could be scared of water, for instance. Or _pirates_ ".

"Well, sorry to break it to you, captain, but you're just not all that scary".

He risked another look at the boy, but found his head tilted up at the stars. The clouds were clearing once more and the moon reflected in his eyes, turning the green-blue a far deeper navy, with glints of silver on the surface.

"Question one" Morse suddenly said.

"Question-?"

"Earlier on" He explained, "You told me to choose. Either answer question one, or question two… I pick question one".

"You don't have to-"

"My parents".

Jakes stilled, every bone in his body freezing even as his muscles tensed for a fight.

"What?" He asked quietly, voice deceptively mild.

"You asked who they were, who… _did_ this. To me. They, um… they were my parents".

He shrugged, eyes firmly on the stars.

"Or, well, the man was, at least. My father, he, uh... Well, when I was about three, my mother took me and ran. I'm sure you can imagine the reason why. But then she died, and I was sent back to him. He'd remarried, by then, and Gwen was… Well, the evil stepmother and all that".

He gave a humourless smile.

"So, there you have it. The answer to question one. They were... _are_ my parents".

" _No they're not_ ".

He was surprised at the vehemence in his own voice.

"What?"

"Your parents. No. They're. _Not_ " Jakes repeated firmly, " _Christ_ , Morse, if you even spent just _one hour_ with-"

With Thursday.

With Win.

With Sam and Joan and-

"… Those _aren't_ your parents, got it?"

He slowly, hesitantly, nodded.

" _Good_ " He growled, "Those monsters don't even deserve to _look_ at a child, let alone-"

He cut himself off once more and took a deep breath to try and calm down.

That itch was back, bubbling up from beneath the surface, wanting to hurt, wanting to harm, wanting to _kill_.

He settled for remembering that woman's screams as her husband's body was dragged over razor sharp barnacles instead.

It would have to do.

* * *

Morse abruptly straightened, and then all but threw himself forward, leaning so far over the edge of the railing that Jakes had to fight the urge to grab him by the scruff of the neck and yank him _back_.

" _Look!_ " He exclaimed, "Over there! What is that?"

His voice was full of wonder, so Jakes decided it couldn't be something bad, and took his time trying to find whatever the hell the boy was so excited about in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the damn night.

Directly ahead of them, just beneath the surface of swelling waves, was a blue, luminous glow.

"What is _that?!_ " Morse demanded, turning back to him, like a child who'd been given a puppy for Christmas.

"Dinoflagellates" He replied calmly, even as his heart swelled at the pure joy the boy now radiated.

"Dino _what?_ "

"Dinoflagellates" He repeated, feeling a strange thrill at knowing something the younger didn't, "They're a type of plankton".

"But- But they _can't_ be! They're _glowing!_ "

 _So are you_ , Jakes wants to say.

"It's a broad term" He says instead, quickly looking away, "Used to describe pretty much every slow-moving creature in the sea. Only a few of them actually glow, however".

"There's _more?!_ "

His eyes were as wide as saucers, sparkling like the shallow waters of the Caribbean.

"There's more" He confirmed, "Not many in these parts, though. They tend to prefer the coast".

He didn't think Morse was even listening anymore, attention firmly riveted on the bright blue glow they were slowly but surely sailing towards. Jakes continued to stare at him, wondering how different his _own_ life would've been if he hadn't gotten out at fifteen. He'd never have met Thursday, that's for sure, and likely would've never taken to the sea.

He'd likely not have survived that long.

But Morse _had_.

And he at least deserved _some_ amount of kindness for that, didn't he?

So, he keeps his mouth shut, leans forward to rest his arms on the old wooden railing, and watches the boy with ocean eyes.


	4. Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One of the lads overheard your row with the captain the other day, and considering that no one onboard dares to raise their voice to him… _Well_ , news travels fast, and even faster on a pirate ship".  
> "So, I'm a- a what? A _circus act?_ "  
> "More like a novelty. It'll wear off soon".  
> "Once I speak to them, you mean?"  
> "You do have a certain _charm_ about you".  
> "Derisive sarcasm?"  
> "That too".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's a day late, but it's almost twice the usual length, so don't hate me you're welcome I guess

_**Crew** _

By day six, Morse was bored, restless, annoyed, and 'cabin fever' didn't even _begin_ to cover it. The doctor, _DeBryn_ , he reminded himself, meant well by keeping him below deck, but he'd spent far too much of his life locked up in confined spaces, and now that he suddenly realised that he didn't _have_ to…

 _Well_.

Salty air had never felt so good.

Most of his injuries were even healed, angry bruises fading from purple and blue to green and yellow. Shallower wounds on his arms and chest had closed up completely, and the few deeper marks on his back that had required stitches were now more irritating than helpful. Even his sprained wrist, the only reason that DeBryn had for keeping him inside, was no longer as weak and sore.

In short, Morse was more than ready to re-join the land of the living, even if they _were_ pirates and he was sort of _technically_ their prisoner? He _thinks_. He isn't entirely sure, to be honest, and doesn't want to ask in case they suddenly remember that he's not one of them and throw him in the brig.

The doctor still insists that he's part of their crew, _a guest_ , as such, and that he'll be left go as a freeman once they reach port.

It sounds too good to be true.

But DeBryn was being surprisingly _kind_ to him, despite his scathing wit, but in that regard, at least, Morse could hold his own. The man gave him three meals a day, provided intellectual conversation from time to time, and hadn't so much as raised his voice once, even when a particularly acerbic jab was sent his way. It was almost as if he actually _liked_ talking to him, and Morse couldn't help but feel like the other shoe was bound to drop soon. The doctor was a pirate, after all, so shouldn't he be swearing and yelling and hitting?

In fact, the only piratey-thing that he'd seen yet was the captain.

Captain Peter Jakes.

One of the most feared men on the seven seas.

 _Bastard_.

Morse sighed and leant more heavily against the ships railing.

Captain Peter Jakes _was_ a right bastard. He was loud and abrasive and rude. He was violent and angry and _oh so very_ bitter. He was…

 _Interesting_.

* * *

It had been a long time since Morse had found something interesting.

* * *

The strange man had honestly _scared_ him the first time they met, standing and smoking and _sneering_ at him until he could do nothing else but lash out. Jakes could have killed him in a flash if he'd wanted to, and _oh_ how he'd _wanted_ … But then he'd left. Just like that. Taking his righteous anger and suffocating arrogance with him.

Morse didn't see him again until the very early hours of the next morning, when the moon was high in the sky and the ship was at its most silent. He'd waited for DeBryn to go to bed, counted to nine-hundred in his head, and then quietly slipped from his cot into the crisp night air above deck.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been outside.

Morse had been alone for all of thirty minutes before _he_ arrived. Surprisingly, he hadn't been yelled at, or told to go back to his cabin, and even _more_ surprisingly, they'd actually had a somewhat civilized conversation.

Jakes looked different in the moonlight.

He made a striking figure, standing at the edge of his ship, lean linen-clad legs, black shirt offsetting pale skin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut _diamonds_ and made all that more startling beneath the shadow of his hat. He was quite remarkable looking during the day, but there and then, in the depts of darkness, he was something else entirely. Between his hollow features and deep-set eyes, the shadows of the moon had made his face look more like skull.

But then Jakes spoke, and he spoke _well_. He had a decent sense of humour, didn't argue with him again, and was almost _considerate_ about what he said. He had no discernible accent, with only his sharp t's and clipped r's giving away his Englishness. But years at sea had worn away any distinguishing features that would narrow it down to a specific place. Given the fact he wasn't much older than Morse, and yet had been a pirate long enough for _that_ to happen, as well as the fact that he wasn't just a _pirate_ , but a _pirate_ _captain_ , meant that he must have started when was young. _Really_ young. And he couldn't help but wonder _why_.

Captain Peter Jakes was an imposing figure before he even opened his mouth, and Morse wanted to reach inside of him and _wrench_ that façade apart to see who was underneath.

* * *

Running a hand through his hair, he breathed in the sea salt and felt the rushing wind and couldn't even be annoyed at how cold it'd gotten.

If the doctor knew he kept sneaking out like this, he'd probably throw a fit.

But since he wasn't allowed to do anything but sleep during the day, Morse figured he might as well embrace his new-found freedom at night, while DeBryn was none the wiser.

He'd half expected a reprimand the first morning after he'd stood at the rails, but the doctor hadn't said anything and Morse didn't mention it either. Perhaps it was too early for Jakes to have told him.

By the next day, he still hadn't been yelled at, and Morse started to wonder if the pirate captain was keeping his secret safe.

By day four, he was convinced that, for whatever _strange_ reason, the man really _wasn't_ going to tell DeBryn about his night-time wanderings, and for that, he felt absurdly _grateful_.

Jakes even re-joined him at the old wooden railing some nights, though they never spoke to each other again. Sometimes they'd stand there for hours without so much as a solitary word, just staring at the sea and the stars. Others times, Jakes would only stay for a few minutes, as if confirming to himself that Morse was, in fact, still alive and hadn't frozen to death in his flimsy shirt in the middle of the Atlantic.

The silence was strangely… _comforting_ , in a sense. Morse hadn't expected it to be, given how much of his life he'd already spent in silence, but with the crashing waves and creaking ship, it was surprisingly peaceful.

Sometimes Jakes stared at him with something indiscernible in his eyes, and Morse felt horribly _seen_. It was almost as if the man _knew_ what his past life had been like, despite their vastly different backgrounds. But then again, living as a pirate wasn't exactly easy either, so chances were that Jakes had been beaten up a time or two before.

Morse really didn't know anything about the captain, and he knew even less about pirates.

Oddly enough, it was that _first_ revelation that bothered him the most.

* * *

The next morning rose bright and clear, the perfect day for sailing, and even the doctor was in a good mood from it. He entered the room whistling, and smirked at Morse's resulting scowl.

"You won't be looking like that for long, once you've hear what's on the agenda for today".

"More sleep?" He guessed sarcastically, "Ooh, maybe even a _power nap!_ "

DeBryn rolled his eyes at him but didn't take the words to heart.

"Well, if you _really_ want to stay here, then I suppose I can't stop you-"

" _Stay?_ " He asked sharply, "As in the opposite of go?"

"As in it's about time you got some fresh air, your wrist is healing nicely, and the crew are curious to meet you".

"They're curious to- _what?!_ "

DeBryn's smile only widened.

"One of the lads overheard your row with the captain the other day, and considering that no one onboard dares to raise their voice to him… _Well_ , news travels fast, and even faster on a pirate ship".

"So, I'm a- a what? A _circus act?_ "

"More like a novelty. It'll wear off soon".

"Once I speak to them, you mean?"

"You do have a certain _charm_ about you".

"Derisive sarcasm?"

"That too".

Morse stared at him. DeBryn stared back. They both smirked.

"Well, no time like the present" the doctor announced, clapping his hands together, "So up you get, there's a fresh linen shirt in the cupboard, and I'll meet you outside the door".

* * *

Most of the crew were in the mess for breakfast, and thankfully DeBryn agreed with him when Morse said he'd rather not do this all at once. So, in the meantime, he was given a tour of the ship, and wisely kept his mouth shut when he was shown the quarterdeck for the 'first' time. _The Cowley_ , its name, looked a lot different in the pale sunlight, made of shiny red wood and deep blue paint. At the front of the ship, the bow, DeBryn called it, was a large wooden carving of an ox, painted the same shade of red as the timber, with white eyes and horns. Apparently, it'd been there since the ship was first built, three captains' ago. The doctor only vaguely remembered the man, a short stout fellow named Bright, but command had quickly fallen to his successor after he'd been killed in battle. He had a lot more stories about Thursday, but said they were only fit for fireside musings, and the crew could tell them better than him anyway.

After the bow spirit came the forecastle deck, then the forecastle itself, the main deck, and finally the steering wheel and the quartermaster's deck. He also found out that no one but the helmsman and the captain himself were allowed to set foot on it.

 _Whoops_.

Directly below it was the captain's quarters, strictly off limits, and the next level down had the gun deck and the infirmary. The base of the ship was used for storage, both food, rigging, and ammunition alike, and in the middle of these two decks lay sleeping quarters and the gallery.

"Or mess" DeBryn added, "Depending on who you talk to. But either way, its where we eat. Hearty breakfast, solid dinner, with something lighter in between".

Emerging back above deck, Morse blinked as he was blinded by the bright sunlight and wondered how the crew managed it daily.

"Oi, matey!"

Morse automatically flinched back as a large shadow suddenly blocked out the sun, and it was only DeBryn's steadying hand on his shoulder that stopped him from running completely.

"Jim" He greeted calmly.

Morse blinked again, adjusted to the light and his own racing heartbeat, and found a tall heavy-set man standing in front of him.

A man who was currently staring at him in surprise.

DeBryn quickly cleared his throat.

"Ah, Jim, this is Morse".

The man nodded.

"Strange".

He couldn't help but bristle.

"What is?"

"I am" He replied, " _Me_. My name. Jim Strange".

_That was one word for it._

"Jim's our quartermaster" DeBryn explained, "And usually Helmsman, too. He keeps things running around here".

"Oh. Right. Uh, nice to meet you, I guess".

Strange grinned, "You as well, matey, though I have to say, you're looking an _awful_ lot better than the last time I saw you".

"The _last_ time you-?"

"He carried you onboard" the doctor said quietly, "After the captain found you".

"The _captain_ found me?!"

"He didn't… tell you?"

" _No_ , he-"

Morse took a deep breath and willed his face not to turn any redder.

"We didn't exactly _talk_ much".

"Ah, yes, the infamous shouting match" Strange said, rocking back and forth on his heels, "I don't know whether to punish you or to congratulate you".

"Why?"

The man stopped, confused.

"What do you mean why?"

"Why would you have to punish or congratulate me?"

He blinked owlishly, mouth open, before turning to Debryn who merely sighed and shook his head.

"… Because I'm your quartermaster" He finally said.

"You're not _my_ anything".

"You're part of this crew".

"No, I am _very_ much not".

Strange, if possible, looked even more thrown, and gaped in response, as if the idea of being unwillingly forced onboard a pirate ship and not being happy about it was… well… _strange_.

DeBryn cleared his throat once more.

"We're working on it".

 _Working on what?_ Morse wanted to demand, hating the feeling of having missed something, but the larger man simply nodded once before stepping back. The sunlight reached Morse once more, and he basked in its warmth.

" _Right_. Well then, matey, most of the crew are still eating, but there's a few I can introduce you to".

As if on cue, a mischievous lad suddenly dropped from the rigging above them, and landed gracefully on the balls of his feet.

"Starting with this little monkey" Strange grinned, clapping him on the back, and Morse internally winced at the force of it.

The boy, however, remained standing, and brushed back overly long hair from his smirking face.

"Morse meet George Fancy, Fancy meet- Hang on, you didn't give me your first name".

"I know".

There was a beat of awkward silence, before the quartermaster pushed on.

"Okay, well, Morse this is Fancy, Fancy this is Morse".

The boy held out a large hand which he reluctantly shook.

"George is our primary rigger, and does a bit of carpentry when needed".

"Has the doc shown you around?"

Morse nodded silently, but his grin still didn't fade.

"Great! You're with us till port then?"

"Something like that".

Strange smiled at the pair of them, obviously completely misconstruing the scene as one of _fast friendship_ instead of _overeager puppy_ and _long-suffering prisoner_.

"George, why don't you tell Morse about the ship, daily jobs, roles, that sort of thing, while I talk to the doctor for a minute?"

_Oh no._

"'Course! Come on, Morse, I'll show you what I do".

"Please don't".

The boy paid him no attention and instead grabbed hold of his wrist, ignored the resulting flinch, and started to tug him towards the main deck. He gave the doctor a begging look, but DeBryn simply smirked and patted him on the shoulder as he was dragged past.

"You'll be _fine_. Make a few friends, have fun, and don't overstrain yourself too much".

"They're _pirates!_ "

"And for now, so are _you_ " He replied jokingly, "About time you met your cohorts".

* * *

It took an entire twenty minutes for Morse to recover from the doctor's betrayal, and when he zoned back in, Fancy was in the dept of discussion about the different types of knots he used to secure the sails.

"-and this one is called a bowline and it's my _favourite_ because no matter _how_ tight it becomes after being loaded for a while, it can _always_ be easily untied, which is a _super_ advantage during storms when your fingers keep _slipping_ cause of the rain!"

_Was he seriously this cheerful about everything?!_

"Then _this_ one is called a stopper knot, and it's not that good for manning the sails but it's _great_ for keeping a line from pulling through a block or rope clutch, not to _mind_ -"

"Fancy!"

Morse breathed a silent sigh of relief and turned to face the oncoming pirate, a short slight figure with knee-high boots and a cutlass swaying from their belt.

"The captain wants you. Now".

"Hello to you too, dearest" He muttered, "Have you met Morse?"

" _Now_ , Fancy".

The boy shrugged, "Alright. But keep an eye on him, would you? Where's the Sarge?"

"Where do you think?"

Morse followed his gaze to the opposite side of the ship, and felt a sudden _jolt_ as he realised Jakes was staring back at him from the helm. It was too far away to make out his eyes, and the sun and his hat cast a shadow over most of his face, but Morse had the most vivid feeling of being _flayed alive_ by that gaze.

"Right. I'll see you later".

The moment that Fancy struck forwards, Jakes turned away, and Morse was left strangely bereft. Shaking his head at himself, he glanced over at the man who'd be left in charge of him, and-

 _What_.

He blinked.

Blinked again.

And then a third time for good measure.

The pirate grinned cheekily at him, tipping back the customary hat to reveal long blonde hair that cascaded down in waves and a youthful face and brilliant chestnut coloured eyes.

"You're a _pirate?_ " He blurted, "But you're-"

"I'm what? A woman?"

He flushed, "I was actually going to say that you're... _young_ ".

"Oh".

Her thunderous expression immediately cleared.

"Right. Well. _Yes_. I mean, so are _you_ , and- and Fancy's only a year older".

"Seems an unexpected choice for someone like yourself".

"What is someone like myself?"

She was determined to catch him out and Morse couldn't help but smirk.

"I don't know... Bright, I suppose".

"What are bright girls supposed to do? Marry well?"

"Oh, I... I just meant it can be a pretty _grim_ kind of a calling".

"Maybe I like grim".

He found himself smiling at the quick banter, and she returned it readily.

"Morse" He said suddenly, and her smile widened, "I know. The captain's newest _adversary_ ".

"Has _everyone_ heard about that?"

"If not in person, then _definitely_ in rumour".

He ducked his head as his cheeks flushed unwittingly, and she laughed, pulling back her hair and replacing the hat. It was like building a mask. With her hair tied up, the brilliant sheen was hidden, and when the tricorn went on top, it revealed nothing. Her features were fragile but androgynous, and between that and the boyish clothes, Morse would be hard pressed to tell her from one of the lads.

"I'm Shirley, by the way. Shirley Trewlove".

"So… what is it you do here?"

She grinned, wide and brilliant, and suddenly didn't look so fragile anymore.

"I'm the gunner".

He stared.

"... I'm sorry, you're the-"

"The gunner" She repeated, "I'm the one who makes things go _boom_ ".

* * *

Over the next hour, Morse quickly realised that she wasn't fragile at all. She was downright _terrifying_.

* * *

"So, _this_ is where you disappeared to".

Morse jumped and turned guiltily as DeBryn and Strange made their way over.

After their rather _rememberable_ introduction, Trewlove had dragged him below deck to the gunnery and started lecturing about the ins and outs of canon fire. She was a surprisingly good teacher and he actually found the topic engaging in a way that Fancy hadn't been able to achieve. It had been a long time since he'd learnt something after all, and even if this wasn't Oxford and Shirley wasn't a professor and he didn't have so much as a _pencil_ , let alone any paper or books, he was genuinely interested.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but given DeBryn's disapproving look and Strange's less-than-blinding smirk, they'd missed lunch.

"And just what, exactly, do you think you're doing?"

Morse glanced down at the barrel of gunpowder he was elbows deep in with a stack of pistols at his feet, and tried his best to look innocent.

"Not overstraining myself?"

"Morse".

"Not overstraining myself _too much?_ "

" _Morse_ ".

"Hey, you're the one who said to make friends!"

" _Oi!_ " Trewlove snapped, "Don't pin this on me, _you_ _landlubber!_ I didn't know you were under doc's orders".

"And where the _hell_ did you think I was for the past week? Hiding in the captain's quarters?"

"Well, given _his_ preference-"

" _TREWLOVE!_ "

They both turned back as Strange took a sharp step forward.

"That's _enough_. To your station. _Now!_ "

"Yes sir" She muttered, flashing Morse a quick smile as she passed to say there were no hard feelings.

His own escape wasn't so lucky.

"Come on" DeBryn said, "Back to the infirmary with you".

"But-"

" _Now_ , Morse. I need to check your stitches".

He fought back a scowl and stalked past them, making his way for the infirmary door at the other end of the ship. He sat down on the cot, already mourning the fresh air and, _shockingly_ , the company. He quite liked Trewlove, and given time, he was sure that he'd grow to… _well_ … maybe not _like_ Fancy, but at least tolerate him.

It would take him a while to get used to _that_ much perkiness.

* * *

He was surprised when Strange followed him in after DeBryn, and his mind unintentionally flashed back to what the man had said about punishment and how he'd disobeyed the doctor by working with Trewlove. He felt his breath catch and automatically gripped the edge of the cot to try and hide his shaking hands.

"Morse?"

He was a large man, and a pirate at that. Trained to fight, to hit, to cause pain and he was definitely heavy handed, he'd seen that when he clapped Fancy on the back.

" _Morse_ ".

The thought of that same hand coming towards him, crashing down on his head and chest and arms and being too slight too light _too weak to stop it until-_

" _Morse!_ "

His head was unceremoniously shoved between his legs and he suddenly gasped for breath.

"That's it, nice and easy" came DeBryn's voice, " _Breathe_ , Morse, slow down and _breathe_ ".

His head was spinning and he clenched his eyes shut _tight_ to try and stop the white flashes that swam across his vision. There was a steadying hand on his knee and another warm on the back of his neck, and he was grateful he knew where they both were because the _last_ thing he needed right now was to wonder what the doctor's other hand was preparing to do to him.

"Deep breaths" He said, "Calm down, you're safe, you're not in trouble, _nothing_ is going to happen to you. Take your time and _breathe_ ".

It took a long _long_ few minutes for him to regain control of his own _bloody_ lungs, and Morse mentally cursed in every language he knew that he'd shown weakness to the doctor. And to Strange. Who was _still in the room_.

The quartermaster was standing in the corner, the door shut next to him, looking bewildered and rather _awkward,_ hunched over as he was in order to fit in the stoop.

His obvious discomfort made Morse feel a bit better.

* * *

"There you go" DeBryn said quietly, slowly releasing him, "Better?"

He quickly nodded, running tired hands over his face, feeling strangely _hollow_.

"Yea, _yea_ , I'm… I'm good. Thanks. And, um… sorry, for… _you know_ ".

"I do" He agreed, taking a seat on the old wooden stool across from him, "But you don't have to apologise, Morse. What I'd _like_ you to do, is tell me what triggered it so we know what to avoid in the future".

"It was nothing. _Really_. Just… me being irrational… _as usual_ ".

He gave a self-depreciating smile.

"I doubt that. And it very much _was_ something" DeBryn replied calmly, "You don't _have_ to tell me, but it _would_ be in your best interest… Was it something I said?"

"Not you" He blurted out, before he could think better of it, and his eyes flashed to Strange in fear of rebuttal.

Unfortunately, the doctor caught the look and his mouth opened in a silent _oh_. He stood up slowly, _very_ _obviously slowly_ , but thankfully didn't move any closer to him. Instead, he turned to Strange.

"Ginger and turmeric, wasn't it?"

The man startled, clearly having subjected himself to waiting until _whatever the hell just happened_ was dealt with, but quickly recovered and stepped out from under the stoop. Morse straightened up just a little bit too sharply, and although he got an odd look for it, neither man mentioned it.

"Yes, please, doc. You have enough?"

"Should last till we port, anyway" He replied with a smile, "So you're safe. Is that all you're here for?"

"Yes, thank you".

He hummed and nodded, and Morse found himself slowly starting to relax once more.

Strange was here for the herbs. That was it. Just the herbs. Not for _him_ , not for _punishment_ , not for-

The man in question saw him staring and took another step closer.

He forced himself not to flinch.

"You alright, matey?"

"… Yea. Yea, _yes_ , of course, sorry".

"Hey, it's like the doc said, there's nothing to be sorry for... We all have our own demons".

It was a rather profound statement for someone so… _muscular_.

* * *

"Why don't you take my seat while I get this ready?" DeBryn said, making his way to the cupboards against the far wall, "Once you're gone, I'll see to Morse".

"Oh right" He sat down, almost comical looking on the small stool as he turned back to him, "Sorry for the delay, matey. I've been on guard the last few nights. It's playing havoc with my…"

He gestured at his stomach and Morse could have cried from relief.

"I think I can live without the details of your digestive timetable".

It was _real_ , it was the _truth_ , they were both telling the truth, he really _did_ need the herbs it wasn't just a trick or a ply to lull him into a _false_ sense of security it was _real_ he wasn't being _punished_ it was _real_ it was _real_ it _was_ -

"Listen, matey, while I'm here-"

He swallowed thickly and brace himself.

"-I think we should talk about what Trewlove said earlier".

Strange leant forwards so his arms rested on his knees. His gaze met Morse's confrontationally, but was more apprehensive than hostile.

"She's a smart girl; one of our best, but sometimes… well, she has a habit of speaking her mind, and it's not always for our benefit".

Now that his fear was gone and his pulse was slowly, Morse found himself somewhat _curious_ about where this conversation was going.

"You made a joke about being in the captain's quarters, and she mentioned his… _preference_ ".

Strange's gaze bore into his own, as if trying to drill the solution of this weird topic into his mind. A few seconds passed without another word, and Morse realised that _that_ was _exactly_ what the man was trying to do and now it was up to him to reply.

"… And?"

_Succinct, as always._

"Well, you… you _know_ what she was referring to, matey, don't you?"

"The captain's preference?"

"Yes".

"Of course".

Strange opened his mouth, closed it again, and then gave him a look as if to say he was being particularly _stupid_.

"You said that _you_ could have been in his quarters. Trewlove said that it would… shall we say… _agree_ with his preferences… You _do_ know what she was implying, right?"

Morse shrugged, "He likes men".

Strange winced at the bluntness but nodded.

"So, what of it?"

"It doesn't… _bother_ you? Knowing that our captain lays with other men? That isn't a problem for you?"

On the rickety table, DeBryn had become suspiciously silent, no longer cutting the plants that he held in his hands, and Morse distantly wondered that if the man had to decide between killing his patient or degrading his captain's honour, which one would he choose.

Luckily for him, he'd never have to make that decision.

"I don't see why it _should_ bother me" He replied, "Is it a problem for _you?_ "

"What? _No!_ Of course not!" He leant back, as if blown away by the assumption, "I just wanted to make sure that you- I mean, it's just- _Well_ , you see, matey, I- That is, _we_ \- we- we have a-"

"A live and let live policy onboard this ship" DeBryn finished, turning back around to face them, "If you have a problem with who the captain likes, then you're kicked off. Likewise, he doesn't say anything about our partners. As long as everything's legal and consenting, then… well, as I said, live and let live".

"Glad we're in agreement, then" Morse replied evenly, and after another moment of the doctor searching his expression for any hint of deceit, he nodded once and smiled.

Strange also grinned, standing once more, "Good to know we won't have any problems, matey".

"About _this_ , at least" DeBryn teased him, before handing out a small bottle, "Your medicine, Jim".

"Thanks doc. See you later, Morse".

With a tip of his hat, he left, and the doctor turned back to the younger man once more.

"Now so, lets about those stitches, shall we?"


	5. Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To consider Jakes, pirate captain if-looks-could-kill bitter and dark and furious _Jakes_ … as an obedient sergeant, arresting criminals, and sailing under the crown?  
> It wasn't possible.  
> It couldn't be.  
> There was _no way_ that-  
> "Your brain's having a hard time processing that, huh?"  
> "… _How?!_ "

_**Work** _

Luckily for Morse, and the doctor's sanity, his stitches had held perfectly throughout his adventures with Trewlove. He was allowed to leave the infirmary again whenever he liked, but was under strict instructions not to strain himself any further. He was also given a curfew, which _sucked_ , because the ship was ten times more beautiful at night than it was during the too hot days.

Morse found himself wandering the decks aimlessly every morning until he inevitably bumped into Trewlove or had to duck behind a mast to avoid Fancy. Strange, too, he tried to evade, usually _without_ luck, because as large as the man was, he was shockingly light on his feet. On the plus side, the quartermaster wasn't sure what to make of him, especially after his _moment_ the other day, so their interactions were usually limited.

As far as the captain was concerned, he hadn't gone out of his way to _avoid_ the man, but likewise, didn't try to seek him out. Now that his night-time wanderings had stopped, Morse realised how busy running a pirate ship actually was, and whenever he caught sight of those familiar blue-green eyes, they were always directed at someone or something else.

He told himself it didn't matter.

He told himself a lot of false things.

Morse has asked around of course, subtly and mostly to the few DeBryn had introduced him to, but as far as he could tell, everyone onboard genuinely _liked_ the captain. They were all steadfastly loyal to him, that much was for certain, and even those who'd served on the crew _before_ Jakes was put in charge, didn't hold any grudges. Strange, in particular, had served on _The Cowley_ since he was _Morse's_ age, and had spent a good ten years under Thursday's rule. He'd even been here longer than Jakes, and yet seemed perfectly content remaining second in command.

When Morse had asked him about it, about why Jakes had been chosen as captain and not Strange himself, he'd simply puffed up his chest like a proud mama bird and declared that there was "no better man".

It was weird, to say the least.

Considering the man's dark looks, dark thoughts, and dark personality, it was true that he made the ideal pirate king, but beyond that…

 _Well_.

He'd been at the wrong end of Jake's infamous ire on more than one occasion, and if he was _that_ aggressive and arrogant _all_ the time, then he couldn't see why _anyone_ onboard followed him. If he did have a kinder side, then Morse was yet to see it, and he often himself wondering about the man's past.

Not many set out to be a pirate captain, after all, and very few of those had loving families and warm homes. Jakes was clearly bitter about _something_ , and seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Between that, and how adamant he'd been the night Morse had told him about his parents…

As much as he wanted to know more about the man, he also knew that he wouldn't like the answers he found.

* * *

"-so then this holds a winding of match to fire the cannon with and... and whenever _that_ happens, I strip naked and dance around the doctor singing _'I saw my Lady weepe'_ until he cries".

Morse blinked.

"Sorry, what?"

Trewlove sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Shilling for them?"

Three days after his first release, and he was half propped up against a cannon as Shirley explained exactly what a botefeux was and why it mattered.

"For my thoughts?" He replied, straightening up with a groan, "They're not worth _that_ much".

"Good, cause I'm broke anyway" She grinned, hopping up on a barrel next to him, "You need advice on something?"

"No, no, nothing that important" Morse replied, joining her, "Just… everyday chatter, I suppose".

"Given the size of your brain? I doubt it".

He gave her a dirty look and she wasn't afraid to elbow him in the ribs in response, doctor's warnings be damned.

"Come on, maybe I can help. There's clearly _something_ on your mind".

"It's just… How much do you _really_ know about Jakes?"

"The Sarge?" She asked surprised, "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, trying to look indifferent.

"Curiosity, I guess. He seems to be… quite the _character_ ".

She snorted inelegantly.

"That's one way of putting it".

"See!" Morse exclaimed, " _That!_ Right there! The guy _clearly_ gets on your nerves, and I know he drives _DeBryn_ mad once a day, and yet you all still… Oh, I don't know".

"Put up with him?" Trewlove finished, smiling, "Remain loyal? Follow him to the end of the world and back again?"

"The earth is round".

Her nose wrinkled.

"Oh _god_ , you're not one of _those_ , are you?"

"Magellan _literally_ sailed around the world! Not to mind the _countless_ documents that have survived since the beginning of time! Plato, Aristotle, Claudius Ptolemy, they all figured this out _centuries_ ago!"

"Magellan was a drunk and a fool and died before the voyage was complete. So who's to say it wasn't _all_ made up?"

Morse stared at her.

Trewlove stared back, unperturbed.

"… We're getting off topic".

"Right, yes, the captain. What do I know… Well, to be perfectly honest, there's not much I can tell you".

"You haven't heard stories from the others?"

"Oh, sure, but they were all _well_ before my time. I mean, I joined my first crew when I was twenty, but rumour has it that Jakes started a _hell_ of a lot younger than that".

"A cabin boy?"

She gave an abrupt laugh.

"Oh _Christ_ no, can you _imagine?_ The captain taking _orders?_ Saying 'yes sir' and 'no sir' and 'if you please sir'. _God_ no, nothing like that… He actually started out in the Royal Navy".

If he had been drinking something, then Morse would have choked.

" _The Royal Navy?!_ "

"I know. Bit of a surprise for me too, when I found out. A regular little sailor, he was".

"What the- _How_ \- Why did he- I mean, _what_ \- What happened for him to- to-"

"Turn into the very thing he swore to fight against?"

Trewlove shrugged.

"I don't know. _Nobody_ knows".

"Not even DeBryn?"

She considered it for a moment.

"… No. Not even DeBryn. I don't _think_ so, at least. I mean, he's known the Sarge the longest out of everyone on board, both him and Strange both, but… no. I don't think even the doctor knows".

"So… So, you're telling me that- that the _captain_ of this _pirate_ ship… used to be a _British soldier?!_ "

"Why d'you think we call him Sarge?"

Morse stared at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

To consider Jakes, pirate captain if-looks-could-kill bitter and dark and furious _Jakes_ … as an obedient sergeant, arresting criminals, and sailing under the crown?

It wasn't possible.

It couldn't be.

There was _no way_ that-

"Your brain's having a hard time processing that, huh?"

"… _How?!_ "

Shirley grinned.

"I don't know. _Really_. It baffles me, too… But once upon a time, Peter Jakes ran away to sea".

She shrugged again.

"And _this_ is where he ended up".

* * *

"You didn't answer my earlier question".

"Why we all follow him when he's usually a pain in the ass?"

"Not quite so crudely put, but yes".

Trewlove thought for a moment, her legs swinging on either side of the barrel, and Morse adjusted his slouch so it wasn't tugging at the stitches still in place across his shoulders.

"… He's genuine".

"What?"

"The Sarge. The reason I stay. He's… _genuine_ ".

"You remain onboard a _pirate_ ship led by a ruthless _bastard_ because he _tells_ the _truth?_ That's not the only thing you should look for in a man, you know".

She shoved at him half-heartedly.

"Not _honest_ , Morse, _genuine_. It's… Everything you see, you get. _Yes_ , he's arrogant and brash and sometimes things get a little bloody, but… you _know_ all of that going in. He's never once lied to us, never sugar-coated anything or only told half-truths. If we're fucked, then he tells us".

He raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"My prince charming".

This time, she didn't hold back, and he was almost shoved clear off the barrel from her forceful shove.

"Just _listen_ , would you? If things are bad, then he isn't afraid to let us know. But that honesty goes both ways. He doesn't lie to us, and _we_ don't lie to _him_. We never argue with Jakes, of course, he _is_ still the captain after all, but he always hears us out and, most of the time, he tries to bring our ideas onboard. If something happens, if we fuck up, even if we're just not sure about something, not a single _one_ of us are afraid to tell him... Now how many pirate captains can you say _that_ about?"

Morse slowly nodded, rubbing his arm sorely.

"And besides" Trewlove continued, "He really _does_ care, you know. He doesn't always show it, or… well… he _never_ shows it, really, but actions speak louder than words and all that. We receive a fair wage, food and water are rationed evenly, and we even get days off from time to time. And he's _never_ treated me differently, because of my gender, not _once_ … I've been on a lot of ships, Morse, but not a single _one_ of them has even come _close_ to the kindness shown onboard _The Cowley_ … Truth be told, the captain kind of makes a shit pirate".

He snorted.

"Oh, I don't know, all that _doom and gloom_ attitude is _right_ up your books".

"Met many pirates, have you?"

"Well, the stories can't _all_ be false".

Trewlove smirked, "Maybe not. But I doubt there's any about female pirates. Or handsome, brooding, _dashing_ young captains, either".

" _Ah_. So _that's_ the reason you stay".

"Oh, give over!" She scowled, "You'd have to be _blind_ not to admire those cheekbones. And besides, he _firmly_ bats for the other team".

"So I was told" Morse replied, recalling his rather stilted conversation with Strange and DeBryn, "What about Fancy?"

"What about him?"

"He seems rather… _amorous_ … towards you".

She sighed, "I know. George can be… obsessive".

"Is that necessarily a bad thig?"

"Not for _you_ , perhaps. You're a man in a man's world, and _yea_ , I may be a pirate, but the rules aren't that different for us. The reason I became a stowaway to begin with was to escape an arranged marriage… I don't want to be _owned_ , Morse. I don't want to be a- a possession, a _thing_ , something to- to come home to every night who'll have dinner on the table and a child on each knee… I don't want to give up _my_ life for someone who can continue to live _theirs_ ".

He remained silent for a minute, giving those _oh so important_ words the care and thought that they deserved. Shirley was right, after all. Women as a whole were seen as objects, and wives nothing more than homemakers. They couldn't work or keep their own money, and even _whispering_ the word 'independence' could have a woman locked up for insanity. He didn't know of any other female pirates, didn't know any other pirates at all, really, but he couldn't believe that their treatment was any better.

"Have you told Fancy this?"

She shifted in her seat, somewhat awkwardly.

"Not in so many words".

Morse could imagine her struggle. Could imagine feeling trapped and imprisoned and caged in. Could imagine being held down and subdued and put in place by the people who claimed to love him. Could imagine having nothing more than the clothes on his back and a desperate desire for _freedom_.

Could imagine being too scared to speak out, knowing that nothing but pain awaited him if he was caught.

"… I think you should" He finally said, "I think you should explain it to him, what it's like. Being trapped in a place with expectations and rules and… and wanting nothing more than to escape but realising that it'd mean death if you did… Maybe he'll understand".

Trewlove studied him closely, a strange look in her eyes.

"You know, Morse… if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a woman".

"No. Not a woman" He grimaced, "Just raised with the same rights as one".

* * *

His wounds began to heal, slowly but surely, and the very next day DeBryn removed the remaining stitches. They were nothing more than a hindrance by now, itchy and irritating and most in the one place of his back that he couldn't reach. The doctor had sworn by them, however, and Morse couldn't help but agree once he caught sight of pale pink scars. They were hardly noticeable unless you knew where to look, and were near invisible amongst the badly healed silvery lines and raised skin.

If he'd been seen by a doctor while growing up, then maybe he wouldn't have had any scars at all.

The area around the healed wounds was still raw and sore to touch, so DeBryn firmly forbade any heavy lifting or exercise. Strange still treated him like broken glass, Fancy still hounded after him day in day out, and Trewlove, on the other hand, took the doctor's orders with a grain of salt and _immediately_ ordered him to help her out in the gunnery.

"It's about time that you put that head of yours to good use" She snarked, kicking a barrel of gunpowder that had to be moved.

When he pointed out that any brainless idiot could shift a few pounds of musty smelling dust, she aimed her next kick at his ankles.

* * *

After another few days, Morse started to develop a routine.

In the morning he'd remain with DeBryn, sorting out medical supplies, seeing to the various daily scrapes the crew got themselves into, or sometimes, just sitting on the old worn cot and discussing poetry. After breakfast, Trewlove dragged him down to the gunnery, proclaiming that he was the only other person she could trust with her 'baby'.

Then came lunch, along with blessed freedom from the manual labour she often subjected him to, and next, unfortunately, came Fancy. He found that the boy was manageable in small amounts, and he often had decent gossip and wild rumours that kept him distracted if nothing else. He learnt more about the different types of knots and rope, finally figured out which sail was which, and even helped secure the rigging once or twice.

Dinner was a loud affair in the gallery of the ship, full of laughter and conversations and an appalling mess. Morse was usually squished between Shirley and Strange, who became 'Jim' while they were considered off-duty, and he was given more food in that one meal than he'd received in an entire week from his parents.

He was given odd jobs from different crew members during the day and he was glad of the opportunity to learn and keep busy. He worked so much during the day that he was too wrung out to even consider sneaking out at night, and often he collapsed into a dreamless sleep the second his head hit the pillow.

Life was… surprisingly _good_.

* * *

Currently, he was trying rum for the first time, and _Christ_ was it delicious.

Across from him, Fancy was openly laughing at his awed expression, while Trewlove merely smiled into her own drink and Strange– _Jim_ –gave him a hearty clap on the back.

He was proud of himself for not flinching.

Delving into the tankard once more, he ignored their teasing and instead focused on the grog that tasted like sweet grass and burnt his throat in the _best_ way possible.

He could get used to this.

"Uh oh, matey, here comes trouble".

_Or maybe not._

Putting down the drink, Morse followed the larger man's gaze to the far side of the room where Jakes had just appeared at the door.

And he looked _livid_.

* * *

The captain was heading directly for their table, footsteps silent but still seeming to demand attention, and the laughter in the room started to fade. His stride was purposeful and quick, and Morse only had enough time to swallow his mouthful of rum before he reached them.

Strange nodded, "Sarge", and immediately started to stand, no doubt about to be called away for duty.

To his surprise, as well as the rest of the table, Jakes merely waved a dismissive hand at him, sharp gaze pinned solely on-

 _Morse_.

He swallowed thickly and tried to desperately remember what he'd done wrong.

The captain jabbed a finger at him.

"You. With me. _Now_ ".

His voice was low, controlled, and _furious_.

Spinning on his heel, he faced the door once more, clearly intending to be unquestionably obeyed.

_Fuck that._

"Why?" Morse called after him.

Next to him, Shirley choked on her rum.

Jakes slowly turned back around.

"… What?"

He shrugged.

"Why?"

"Why _what?_ "

"Why should I follow you? Why should I go outside?"

"Because- Because I just _ordered_ you to!" He snapped, his expression a strange mix of bewilderment and indignation.

Morse resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man.

"That's not a valid reason".

Strange subtly nudged his leg under the table, giving him a warning look that _oh_ so obviously said _'shut the hell up up'_.

As usual, he didn't listen.

"Why do you want me to go with you?"

Jakes stared at him as if he'd suddenly gone insane.

The rest of the room did too, all laughter and conversation having officially died away.

"We need to talk. _That's_ why".

"About what?"

"About- Just get the _hell_ up and _follow_ _me_ ".

Morse sighed and folded his arms across his chest.

"No".

"… No?"

"Yea. Exactly. _No_ " He snarked, "It's the middle of dinner, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and this is my first time having rum. I'd rather _not_ be interrupted, if it's all the same, and especially for no reason".

The captain took a slow step forward until he was all but pressed up against the other side of the table, Fancy looking absolutely terrified being seated right next to him.

"The _reason_ " He spat out, "Is that you've been _working_ on my _ship_ ".

"And?"

" _And what the hell are you doing working on my ship?!_ "

"What do you mean, what am I _doing?_ " He exclaimed in disbelief, "I'm trying to pull my own _weight_ , is what I'm doing! It's only right that I do some bit of work if I'm going to be treated like everyone else anyway. Or am I suddenly a prisoner?"

Jakes reeled back as if he'd been struck, and the sweet taste of victory was somewhat damned by an annoying stab of guilt.

"You said I was part of this crew" Morse continued, quieter this time, "Everyone else says so too. At least until we reach port. Or am I mistaken?"

"… Until we reach port, yes, you are" He reluctantly admitted.

"Well then. Problem solved. I don't see any other crew member not working, so why should I be any different?"

"That's not- _You're_ \- It's-"

He cut himself off with an aggravated sigh as he realised his own words had come back to haunt him.

Morse felt a brief stab of victory.

And then, slowly, _surely_ , Jakes began to smirk.

That victory quickly turned to fear.

"You're part of this crew, yes?"

"… _Yes_ " He replied slowly, really not liking that smug look in the man's unfairly striking eyes.

"Then, like you said, it's problem solved. If you're a member of this crew, then you should act like one".

"Good".

" _Good_ " He echoed, straightening up with a flourish.

"Then, as a crew member, I expect you'll have no problem obeying captains' orders, will you?"

 _That devious bastard_.

Jakes didn't wait for an answer; his smirk widening at the sight of a suddenly flabbergasted Morse, before turning on his heels and heading straight for the door.

"With me, Morse" He called over his shoulder, "Bring the rum if you have to. _Captain's orders_ ".

* * *

Next to him, Trewlove blinked rapidly.

"… Holy shit".

"I agree" Strange said hollowly, "You know, Morse, I should put you on mess duty for talking back to the Sarge like that… but it seems like you _working_ is the problem to begin with".

"It's not my fault he was being a _prat!_ " He snapped, already mourning the loss of his dinner, "So go ahead, give me those extra hours. If it _irritates_ him, it'll be a _bonus_ ".

"… _Holy_ shit" Shirley repeated, "You just… I mean, when I heard that you'd _argued_ with him, I didn't think… Holy _shit_ ".

"You've already said that" Morse replied dryly, standing up to squeeze past her, "If you ask me, that _captain_ of yours could do with getting talked back to a _hell_ of a lot more often".

"Not just _our_ captain, matey" Strange replied, " _Yours_ , too".

He sighed as he finally made his way around the table, tankard of grog still firmly encased in his hands.

"… I should have known that'd come back to bite me".


	6. Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, that’s that then” Jakes said, completely oblivious to his staring, “I need to warn Strange to ration your drinks. If you’re like _this_ after only two mugs…”  
> The man’s piercing gaze landing on him, and Morse quickly shook himself out of the daydream.  
> “I only had one and a half” He protested, “The rest is either on deck or in you!”  
> “There was barely a mouthful left”.  
> “ _You’re_ a mouthful!”

_**Maps** _

Blinking as he stepped out into the daylight once more, Morse scowled as he caught sight of a smirking pirate not three feet away. He took a hearty gulp of his rum, which he'd been sure to top up before following the captain, and then took the last few steps forward.

"So? What do you want?"

"That's what do you want _sir_ , sailor".

He almost resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the smug man.

 _Almost_.

Catching his snarky look, Jakes' expression immediately soured, and Morse found himself strangely missing the playful look that had left the man's eyes.

"Come on" He snapped, turning.

He quickly jogged to catch up, cursing the pirate's longer legs and trying desperately not to spill his grog. If the Sarge was going to be in a _mood_ , after all, then he'd need it.

"Where are we going?"

" _I_ am going to work; _you_ are going back to DeBryn".

He pulled up short.

"What? No".

Jakes sighed, prayed for some semblance of patience, and then turned to face him.

"What _now?_ "

"You pulled me out of lunch to _send me to my room?!_ "

"Yes".

Morse stared at him.

Jakes raised a solitary eyebrow.

"I'm not a child!"

"No? You sure as hell act like one".

"Called the pot kettle!"

The Sarge stilled, biting back yet another sarcastic remark.

"You've been _working_ on my _ship_ ".

"The doctor told me to fit in!"

He snorted in disbelief, and Morse felt his cheeks redden.

"You couldn't _fit in_ if you tried! Look at you! An educated _city boy_ with rich parents".

He shook his head.

"You're on a _pirate ship_ , brat. Each and every single person onboard has killed at least a _score_ of men; even your pretty little friend Trewlove… How could _you_ ever hope to _fit in?_ "

Morse's eyes burned and he briefly considered throwing his tankard at the irritating prat's head.

Then he considered the waste of rum and decided against it.

His only weapon now were his words.

"Oh yea?" He challenged, "And how the hell did _you_ manage?"

Jakes blinked in surprise, obviously having expected him to cower away from his insults.

Unfortunately for him, Morse had been hurt a fair bit worse in the past.

"If I'm such a _city boy_ then what are you, _Sarge?_ " He continued, "The crown's _spy?_ "

His hand flung to the blade at his hip, and the younger man couldn't help but laugh, "Look at _yourself_ , captain. Riled up by mere words… And yet you call _me_ a brat".

"Watch your tongue".

"No, actually, I don't think I will" He snapped, taking a step forward and pausing only long enough to take another sip of rum.

His head was starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy, and he didn't think he'd ever been so confident.

"Rumour has it, you began in the King's navy. So, if _either_ of us are less likely to fit in onboard a pirate ship, it sure as _hell_ isn't me. Yes, I've been working, and yes, I've been… _making friends_ , of a sort. But I'm only here until you reach port".

Taking another swig of grog, he took another step closer until he could feel the heat and anger than rolled off the man in waves.

"So would it _really_ kill you to play nice until then?"

* * *

Jakes seemed to actually consider his words for a moment, before slowly releasing his death grip on the cutlass and straightening up.

"… You are _so_ lucky that you're drunk".

" _What?_ "

Morse frowned, completely thrown by the off-hand remark.

"I'm not _drunk!_ "

"You're literally swaying on your feet".

"I'm on a _boat!_ "

"A _ship_ " Jakes snapped, " _My_ ship. And I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here!"

" _Yea_ , because I'm standing _right_ in front of you!"

"Then why is your skin flushed?"

"Because I'm _angry!_ "

"Oh, just- Here, give me the damn rum".

"… That won't exactly make me any less angry".

" _Brat_ ".

"I'm not a child!"

"And I refuse to start this argument again!" Jakes finished, "So give me the bloody alcohol, _now_ ".

Morse pouted, then scowled when it didn't work.

Ignoring the faint buzzing in his ears, he jumped back out of the man's reach and quickly tried to down the rest of the rum.

"Hey! _What_ did I just say?!"

The captain lunged at him but Morse was quicker.

Feeling strangely giddy, he laughed and dashed for the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck.

"Get back here!"

" _Or what?_ " He taunted, swinging around a mast and then frowning as his head continued spinning long after he'd stopped.

"Or- Or I'll- I'll put you on mess duty for a month!"

"But I thought you didn't like me working?"

Jakes growled and shot forward, managing to catch the edge of his shirt just as he made it to the quarterdeck rail. It was the same place they'd both stood all those nights before, and he found himself strangely mournful that it wasn't yet dark.

"Give me that!" the captain snapped, finally pulling the tankard away from him, and Morse sighed loudly and collapsed heavily against the rail.

"Traitor".

"Brat".

"Bastard".

Jakes slowly turned to him; a solitary eyebrow raised.

Morse meekly avoided his gaze.

"… Too far?"

The silence said more than words.

* * *

They stared out at the murky waters far beyond the ship, stretching as far as the eye could see, and then even further on again. It wasn't as beautiful as it was by night, but Morse could still see the appeal, especially since the sea was calm today. He still felt vaguely ill whenever he remembered the wild storm that had battered the waves against the last ship he'd been on, not even three days into their journey.

But now, as he looked out with the occasional seagull passing overhead, he was quite in awe of those powerful treacherous waters. The clouds reflected on the ocean below him, and his own head felt just as light. There was a fire in his chest, the grog having warmed him to the core, and with plenty alcohol to go around, he could see why pirates fell in love with sailing.

"I think I might love rum" He said suddenly.

Jakes snorted.

"You won't love it tomorrow morning".

Now that his memory was jogged, Morse turned to stare at the tankard that the man still held, and found the captain doing the same. There wasn't much left in it, the remains either peacefully laying in Morse's own stomach, or else spilt across the deck from his impromptu running session.

Jakes shook the cup lightly, watching as the golden splash from side to side, before suddenly raising the tankard and downing it in one go.

Morse watched him, _transfixed_.

There was something strangely intimate about the older man placing his mouth where Morse's had been, drinking from the same mug, gulping the same alcohol that he himself had already partly drank. With his head thrown back to swallow, he could see a long pale column of his neck exposed, and Morse briefly wondered what it'd look like covered in bites. When the rum was finally finished, he lowered the tankard with dextrous fingers, his pink tongue darting out to lick a drop from even pinker lips.

Morse found himself feeling _deliciously_ hot.

He tried to blame it on the alcohol.

He failed.

* * *

"Well, that's that then" Jakes said, completely oblivious to his staring, "I need to warn Strange to ration your drinks. If you're like _this_ after only two mugs…"

The man's piercing gaze landing on him, and Morse quickly shook himself out of the daydream.

"I only had one and a half" He protested, "The rest is either on deck or in you!"

"There was barely a mouthful left".

" _You're_ a mouthful!"

Jakes blinked.

Morse flushed.

They both looked away.

After a few minutes, the captain cleared his throat.

"You should go back to DeBryn".

He quickly raised his hand when the younger man began to protest.

"I'm not _ordering_ you to, I just think it's a good idea. You're gonna have one _hell_ of a hangover tomorrow, and he's the only one onboard with some semblance of a cure. You'll thank me later, trust me".

"Okay".

They both startled at the sudden admission.

Morse mentally cursed himself and avoided the man's intense gaze.

_Trust me._

_Okay_.

The man was a _pirate_ for christ's sake, and not just _any_ pirate, but _Peter bloody Jakes_ , one of the most _renowned_ pirates on the _seven seas_ and _he'd_ just said okay to _trusting_ the bloody bastard because his brain to mouth filter was _apparently_ no longer working.

He never wanted to have rum again.

* * *

Morse groaned and swore as he tossed and turned later that night.

He'd quickly gone back to the infirmary at Jakes' suggestion, and then complained to DeBryn about having too much grog all the while trying not to furiously blush over how his conversation with the captain had ended.

In order to avoid the man further, he'd given into the doctor's orders to go to bed, and had fallen asleep almost immediately. Nearly nine hours later, he had a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and weirdly sweaty palms. Morse had downed half a gallon of water before lying down; DeBryn promising him that it was the only way he'd be able to function once he woke up.

He didn't want to think how bad it'd be if he _hadn't_ had the water.

But now, here he was, no longer tired and feeling horribly ill and having absolutely _nothing_ to do because the rest of the bloody ship had only just gone to sleep.

He paused; pillow half turned over in his hands.

The rest of the ship were asleep.

A slow grin spread across his face.

_The rest of the ship were asleep._

It had been far too long since he'd seen the stars.

* * *

Mind made up, he staggered out of bed and tugged on his trousers, leaving his feet bare. There was something oddly reassuring about feeling the ship move underneath him, and the wooden boards would still be warm from the sun.

Silently opening the infirmary door, he made sure than no one else was around before quietly slipping out. It was far earlier than when he used to sneak away, and the clouds were blocking the moon. As a result, he couldn't see more than two feet in front of him, but he didn't want to risk lighting a lamp.

Cursing as he stubbed his toe off something, he quickly bit down on his hand to stop any further noise.

The floorboards creaked ominously above him, and in the distance, he heard a rustling of papers.

Morse frowned.

Who the hell was reading at _this_ hour?

And now that he thought about it, follow up question, who the hell onboard could actually _read?_

Morse had taught himself at a very young age. His father would read the newspaper out loud while his stepmother made breakfast, and directly below them in the basement, he had heard every word. Once the paper was finished, Gwen usually brough it down along with a slice of bread and tossed it at him for bedding. Instead, he had always carefully unfolded the yellowing parchment and tried to match up what he heard to what he could see, eventually advancing to tracing out the letters one by one with a stick of coal.

After a few years, reading and writing ended up saving his life, and he soon ran away to Oxford on a scholarship he'd secretly applied for.

But here, now, onboard a ship full of dirty uneducated pirates, there was someone else who could read?

He knew DeBryn could, of course, but the doctor had gone to bed himself not an hour ago, and although he remembered Strange poured over a ships log at one point, he could also hear the man's rambunctious snoring echoing through the halls.

Creeping down the lower deck, he kept one hand outstretched to stop him hitting off of anything else, and trailed the other along the wooden walls to help guide him. It wasn't until he reached the other end of the ship that he caught a flash of tell-tale light spilling out from underneath a closed door.

Morse frowned.

He had never been in that room before, and he struggled to remember what DeBryn had called it.

Stepping forward, he cautiously placed his ear against the worn wood and tried to hear something else.

There was movement inside, he was sure of it.

Papers turning, a rustling of maps, and-

_Cursing?_

Morse's frown only deepened.

He recognised the voice and tried his best to place it, but before he could succeed, there was the tell-tale scraping of chair legs against the wooden floor.

Biting back his own curse, he quickly spied two barrels in the corner opposite him and managed to duck down behind the pair just as the door opened.

Warm yellow light formed an unearthly halo around Jakes as he glared at a pile of papers in his hands. His hat was missing, revealing surprisingly fluffy hair which was sticking up in all directions from the man constantly running his fingers through it. His shirt collar was also open, revealing that tantalising stretch of skin once more, and Morse swallowed thickly at the sight.

Jakes paused just inside the door, before angrily flinging the papers at the table inside.

"Bloody things will never make sense".

Grabbing the lamp, he stopped at the door once more, before swinging the light around in a wide arch as if suspecting someone there.

Morse ducked his head and prayed not to be seen.

After a moment, and with another swear, Jakes put the light down on the desk inside, closed the door and started for the ladder. He made his way above deck in the total darkness with ease, _the bastard_ , and Morse cautiously counted to ten before straightening up.

He stretched stiff limbs and fumbled for the door handle, quickly shutting it again behind him as he ducked into the warmly lit room.

* * *

Once he was sure that no one had heard him, he turned his attention to what had irritated the captain so much.

And then swore himself.

The room was an absolute _disaster_.

Slowly stepping forward, Morse stared at the heaps of maps on the desk in the centre of the room, the clearly abused equipment scattered all over the floor, and the rows upon rows of books and papers haphazardly shoved into whatever space they could fit in the bookshelves.

No wonder Jakes was annoyed.

He racked his brain for any mention of a navigator, for this was clearly his room, but the only thing he could remember was an offhand comment DeBryn made about needing to find a port anyway because they were down one man. It wasn't too much of a stretch to realise that the man they were short was the one in charge of steering.

He glanced back at the closed door, and then at the messy unorganized room once more.

His main area of study had been the Greats when he was up, but he'd also dabbled in ciphers and cartography, liking how similar the numbers could get to poetry. He'd always dreamed of getting away, and even though escaping to Oxford had all but killed him, he always promised himself that he'd put even more distance between him and his parents after he got his degree.

Morse gave a wry smirk.

He hadn't quite expected it to be like this, however.

Either way, it meant that the maps and charts on the table weren't as foreign to him as it seemed that they were to Jakes, and any semblance of organization at all would help the captain tremendously.

And besides, it wasn't as if he was getting any more sleep tonight.

So, taking a deep breath, he rolled up his shirt sleeves, careful to not catch on any bandage, and tried to figure out where to start.

It was time to prove _just how well_ he could fit in.


	7. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctor finally raised his glass, waiting for the captain to explain. And unfortunately, Jakes knew from past experience that the doctor could wait a _long_ time.  
> "… I don't know, alright!" He finally snapped, "He's been making things _difficult_ since he got here! He always talks back, he never does what he's told, and he interferes with everything!"  
> "Sounds a lot like someone else I know".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, it's two weeks late and I'm still not 100% happy with it but a bad chapter is better than no chapter so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyway, I'm thinking of shaking up the narrators next chapter. Is there any character POV that you'd like to see?

**_Dawn_ **

The sound of loud footsteps woke him late the next morning and Morse groaned and pulled the blankets up further to cover his head.

Cleaning and organising the navigation room had taken most of the night, but even then, his curiosity won over his tiredness and he found himself flicking through the log that Jakes had been keeping. They wanted to port as soon as possible, and it didn't take long to realise that their current route would end up bypassing the nearest safe harbour. So, Morse had made a few adjustments, made good use of the sea charts and a compass, and then dragged himself up above deck just as the sun started to rise.

Fancy was on lookout, which was both a blessing and a curse, but at least he took the new plot without question and agreed to give it to Strange when the man woke up.

After that, it was an exhausting trek back to the infirmary where he collapsed on the bed and swatted irritably at DeBryn when the man tried to wake him less than an hour later.

The doctor thought he was still hungover and Morse didn't see the need to correct him.

* * *

The footsteps got closer and closer, bypassing the gun deck and seeming to head straight for the infirmary. Morse groaned again and tried to block out the sound with his pillow.

Which worked pretty well.

Until-

The door slammed off the opposite wall with a loud smack and bounced back only for a tanned hand to stop it. DeBryn immediately jumped up, partly in shock and partly out of respect.

"What has-"

" _Where. is. he?_ "

Jakes.

Morse buried himself further underneath the blanket and mourned his lack of sleep.

"I don't understand, what are-"

"DeBryn. I am _this_ close to stabbing you where you stand. WHERE IS HE?!"

He let out a heavy breath and reluctantly rolled out, pulling the blankets down from his face.

"What?"

Jakes spun around to face him and-

_Holy shit was he furious._

Morse frowned, trying to remember anything wrong that he did yesterday but came up with nothing.

" _You!_ "

He stormed towards him, and DeBryn took a halting step forward, clearly wanting to protect him but also knowing that getting in front of the captain right now would be a _seriously_ bad move.

Morse awkwardly struggled to sit up, tangled in the sheets and annoyed and tired and-

"What?" He repeated as Jakes stopped in front of him.

" _Get. Up. Now_ " He snarled, eyes dancing with fire and hands visibly shaking in anger.

He sighed and reluctantly stood, grabbing a shirt off the floor and tugging it on. He barely had both arms through before there was a vice-like grip around his wrist and he was yanked forwards.

"Hey!"

"Jakes-"

" _NO!_ "

DeBryn paled but wisely kept his mouth shut, instead quickly following them as the captain dragged Morse through the ship. He was still half asleep, stumbling under the speed Jakes was pacing at, and splinters cut into his bare feet with every step.

_What the hell was wrong with this guy?!_

Emerging above deck, he wasn't given a single second to adjust to the light and was instead hauled towards the quarterdeck stairs and shoved up the steps. The crew on deck watched with equal parts curiosity and concern as DeBryn struggled to keep up with them.

Jakes finally stopped a few feet from the railing and with one last forceful jolt, he sent Morse staggering against the burnt red wood.

He immediately scowled and spun back around.

"What the _hell_ is-"

There was a blade at his throat.

* * *

Morse froze, hardly daring to breathe as the captain kept his cutlass a mere hairsbreadth away from his neck.

DeBryn stopped at well, pulling up short at the sight of the weapon, and from the helm, Strange took a cautious step forward.

"Sarge-"

" _Shut up_ ".

His voice cut across the deck like a knife, every single sailor and crewman silent as they watched the scene in front of them with rapt attention.

Morse studied his face almost frantically, trying to work out just what on earth was happening. The sun and the hat cast a shadow across his eyes but his mouth was turned down in its signature scowl.

He swallowed thickly, hands slowly raising in peace.

"… What have I done?"

His grip tightened around the cutlass.

"What have you _done?_ " Jakes hissed, "What _haven't_ you done?! Since the _second_ I laid eyes on you, you've been nothing but _trouble!_ You talk back, you use the quarterdeck as your personal observation post, you've disobeyed everyone's orders at least once, you work when you're not supposed to, you get drunk in the middle of the day, you insist on being a crew member but don't show up every morning, and you know, I could have gotten over all that. I could have ignored _every single little insult_ you've sent my way because, as you said, I only have to play nice until we port… But what you did last night?"

Morse frowned.

 _Surely_ , he wasn't this upset over-

"You _destroyed_ the navigation room and give my helmsman new orders. You changed _everything_ just after I was starting to make _sense_ of it all and-"

"Are you for real?" He blurted, cutting off the man's tirade.

Jakes stilled.

" _What?_ "

That single word was sharper than the blade still pressed against his throat.

"Are you for _real?_ " Morse repeated, beyond exasperated, "I didn't _destroy_ anything. You clearly had _no_ idea what the hell you were doing, the charts were all out of order, some of the maps were so outdated they stilled called Saint-Domingue _'Insula Hispana'_ , the instruments were _scuffed_ , some even _broken_ because of your harsh treatment of them! I did you a _favour_ by organizing that absolute _disaster_ of a room, not that you'd even _notice_ , let alone _acknowledge_ it, because quite frankly, _captain_ , you couldn't tell a compass from a- a- a _chronometer!_ "

He was breathing heavily after his outburst and had clearly taken the man by surprise, the cutlass lowered slightly. Unfortunately, as always, he soon recovered, and the blade was raised once more.

" _Walk_ ".

He gestured to either side of the railing he was currently pressed against.

"Where?!"

The sword was pressed firmly against his throat, the point sharp enough to draw a bead of blood.

"You _know_ where".

Morse gave him a disbelieving look before deciding _you know what-_

Shoving up both shirt sleeves, he turned and clambered up to stand on the railing.

If that bastard wanted to kill him, then he was going to give him one last _fuck you_ by dying faster.

* * *

He held onto the rigging next to him with one hand for balance and stared at the murky navy waters below. Shading his eyes with the other hand, he tried to find sight of land in the distance but knew it was futile. His navigating had been spot on, after all, and if Fancy had given Strange the new coordinates as promised, then it'd be many days still before they saw an island.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the captain one last time.

The least he could do was face his killer, and he couldn't help but smirk at the twisted irony. His one and only rescuer being the cause of his death. That just about summed up his entire life.

"Go ahead" He said calmly, letting go of the rope, " _Bastard_ ".

Jakes snarled and raised his cutlass to strike, the flash of the blade against the sun burning his eyes.

"Oh, and by the way, have fun with the Navy" He couldn't help but add, "But then again, given _your_ past…"

Morse braced himself to jump, but the blow never came.

Cautiously reopening his eyes, he found the captain staring back almost contemplatively, the rest of the crew behind him frozen in fear.

"… What do _you_ know about the Navy?"

"More than you, that's for sure".

The hand clenched around the blade twitched but he didn't rise to the bait.

"Your current course was heading straight for the nearest Royal Navy harbour" He reluctantly explained, "Given that I can only _assume_ you told Strange to ignore my note, you'll like reach them within the fortnight".

"… What was on the note?"

"The correct course. _Obviously_ ".

"Leading to?"

"Tortuga" Morse replied, "Within three weeks. Give or take".

Jakes raised his head and he caught a flash of curiosity in his gaze.

"How could you _possibly_ know that?"

For once, the words weren't said in anger.

"Like you said" He snarked, "I'm nothing but an educated city boy with rich parents".

The pirate captain seemed to study him closely for a minute before slowly, ever so slowly, reattaching his cutlass to the belt beneath his coat.

The entire ship seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Explain".

Morse bit back a sharp remark and reluctantly jumped down from the railing, leaning back against it with crossed arms instead.

"… I went to Oxford".

" _University?_ "

"No, the watchmen. Yes, of _course_ , the university!"

"You went to Oxford? _You?_ And, what, you studied navigation?"

"Greats, actually, for two years" Morse replied, "But I dabbled in cartography. It doesn't take a genius to read a map".

Jakes bristled at the pointed remark but was still remaining surprisingly calm about the whole thing.

"So, when you said that you moved around the charts-"

" _Ordered_ the charts".

"-and plotted a new course-"

"And plotted the _correct_ course".

"You were… being serious?"

"Why would I _lie_ about that?" He exclaimed, "You know, despite what you might think, _Sarge_ , my entire _existence_ wasn't invented just to _irritate_ you!"

"Could have fooled me".

"I _have_. On multiple occasions".

" _Brat_ ".

" _Bastard_ ".

Jakes stared at him for another moment before-

 _Smiling_.

* * *

He straightened up and tipped his hat, "Alright then. You want to make yourself useful, fine. How does Sailing Master sound?"

Morse blinked in shock.

"Good? Good. You start immediately".

And with that, he spun on his heel and strode off towards the main deck. The crew didn't move, too surprised and confused and a little bit scared to step out of his way, but he glided between them as easy as waves broke against the shore. He made it all the way to his cabin before they snapped out of it, DeBryn being the first to move as he quickly followed the man into his rooms.

Next was Fancy, slowly letting the rope in his hands go, which in turn caused a sail to creak ominously and then swing dangerously. There was a yell, half the crew hit the deck and the other half quickly scrabbled to grab a hold of it.

As the commotion successfully diverted attention from him, Morse allowed himself to react to what the hell had just happened.

Legs weakening, he all-but collapsed back against the railing, heart racing and pulse throbbing and actual white stars flashing before his eyes and he forced himself to release the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding.

 _Holy fuck_.

Despite his _upbringing_ , despite his so-called _parents_ , despite being _kidnapped_ by an honest to god _pirate captain_ in the middle of the Atlantic _fucking_ ocean-

He had never been so close to death.

The sound of running made him glance up, and he found Trewlove's worried gaze rushing towards him.

She halted abruptly in front of him, hand reaching out, then retreating, and then reaching once more. It was like she feared him suddenly _breakable_.

She wasn't wrong.

Morse closed his eyes tightly, waiting until his breathing evened before looking up once more.

The sail had been retied, Fancy had been scolded, and Trewlove still stared back at him anxiously.

Strange slowly made his way over from the helm, hands wringing in front of him in a rare sign of nervousness.

"You alright, matey?"

Morse felt sticky hot blood trickle from the shallow wound on his neck and wanted to throw up.

"... What the _fuck_ just happened?"

Strange sighed before his usual grin tugged at his mouth.

"What just happened, Morse, is you finally earned the Sarge's respect".

* * *

The door slammed loudly behind DeBryn as he stormed into the captain's quarters.

"What _the_ _hell_ was _that?!_ "

Jakes tugged at the cravat around his neck and hung his hat on the door of the alcohol cabinet. He needed something a little stronger than rum right now, and something told him that the doctor did too.

"What was what?" He asked mildly.

"You were going to _kill him!_ "

He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and grabbed two tumblers from the top shelf.

"I gave him enough warnings".

"That doesn't make it any better!"

Jakes sighed and walked over to the table, pouring two glasses before recapping the bottle.

He held one out to DeBryn but the doctor kept his arms by his side and glared.

"Suit yourself".

Leaving the glass in front of him, he sat down with a heavy sigh and took a much-needed sip.

After a moment, the older man took a deep breath and reluctantly pulled out the other chair, joining him.

"What happened, Peter?"

He winced.

 _That_ particular name only ever came out when DeBryn was worried. _Really_ worried.

He gave a half-hearted shrug.

"I snapped".

"I could see that. Why?"

"The brat irritates me, that's why".

" _Peter_ ".

" _Max_ ".

The doctor finally raised his glass, waiting for the captain to explain. And unfortunately, Jakes knew from past experience that the doctor could wait a _long_ time.

"… I don't know, alright!" He finally snapped, "He's been making things _difficult_ since he got here! He always talks back, he never does what he's told, and he interferes with everything!"

"Sounds a lot like someone else I know".

Jakes glared at him from over the rim of the glass but the doctor maintained his innocent façade.

"No".

"No what?"

" _No_. He doesn't. Stop trying to draw comparisons where there are none!"

"I've only mentioned it _twice_ , Peter. It may seem like years ago for you, but I still remember the angry 17-year-old Thursday hauled out of a bar as if it was yesterday. You said that your situations were different, and you're right, to an extent… But abuse is _still_ abuse-"

" _Don't_ ".

DeBryn sighed and Jakes avoided his gaze, instead staring resolutely at the amber liquid swirling in his glass.

"Peter… He gets under your skin because he reminds you of _you_ ".

"I'm not 17 anymore, doc".

"No. But you're still angry. Still _bitter_ … But Morse is the _last_ person that you should take that out on".

Jakes downed the rest of the whiskey in one go and relished the way it burnt his throat going down.

"… I wasn't _really_ going to stab him".

"I know" DeBryn replied, smiling, "The boy would have jumped _long_ before just to spite you".

He snorted.

Perhaps they _were_ sort of similar.

* * *

Jakes kept his footsteps quiet as he made his way to the navigation room.

He'd remained in his quarters long after DeBryn had left, knowing that the crew would be walking on eggshells around him for the foreseeable future. He'd meant what he said; he genuinely didn't _want_ the brat to die, quite the opposite, in fact. There was just something about him that… _maddened_ him to no end.

So yes, he struck out, despite knowing that he'd never go through with it. But seeing the boy standing there, barely balancing on the edge of the railing with wild curls and rebellious ocean eyes, willing to _drown_ just so he could die before Jakes himself could kill him…

He felt the corner of his mouth curl up into a smirk.

He actually felt somewhat _proud_ of the brat.

After _everything_ he'd gone through, he was still defiant to the last.

The very thing that annoyed him, that razor-sharp wit and unforgiving tongue, was the same thing that made him _like_ the boy.

* * *

The lantern flickered against shadowed walls as he passed, and he hoped that everyone else was still at dinner. He had chosen his timing carefully, after all, and it wouldn't do any good for someone to bump into him or listen in now.

Reaching the door at the end of the hallway, he silently pushed it open a few inches and glanced inside.

Morse was hunched over the table with a hundred different papers in front of him, just as Jakes had predicted.

Smirking, he decided to wait a few minutes before making his presence known, and instead decided to take in the rather… _appreciative_ view in front of him.

Morse's back was facing him, white shirt pulled taut over a narrow back and surprisingly strong shoulders. He could make out every ridge in his spine, as well as a few dark lines he tried not to think about. The boy's hair was as wild as ever, flickering a broad variety of golds and browns in the unreliable light of a nearby lamp. One hand was twirling a piece of chalk around nimble fingers, while the other drummed out a seemingly random tune on the back of his neck as he haphazardly tilted his head to the side. His legs were crossed beneath the table, and Jakes realised with a start that his bare feet were still pin-cushioned with splinters from their eventful morning.

He frowned.

DeBryn had followed him back to his quarters after their… _altercation_ … but he still would've thought that the doctor would check in with him, especially after Jake's own sword had drawn blood from the boy's throat.

Unless, of course, the brat had hidden himself away in here since this morning.

Just like Jakes had done in his own room.

He had a feeling that the universe was trying to tell him something.

* * *

"Wotcher".

Morse jumped half a foot in the air, the chair tumbling backwards and crashing to the floor as he spun around with his arms raised, ready to fight, or defend, against any potential intruder.

When he saw that it was Jakes, he slowly lowered them, but the tension remained in his body and after this morning, the captain couldn't blame him.

"… Sarge".

He nodded and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and not failing to notice how the boy automatically took a step back. He distantly wondered just how much damage he'd done this morning by trying to kill him, and more importantly if he'd lost the man's trust completely.

Making his way over to one of the bookshelves in the corner, Jakes busied himself with looking for the battered copy of _Robinson Crusoe_ he'd spotted during his brief time in the navigation room.

After a few, tense moments, Morse started to relax, and eventually, he picked back up the chair and returned to whatever it is that he was doing.

Jakes waited another few minutes before speaking.

"So, DeBryn says I've been a bit of an ass".

Morse choked.

"He- He _what?!_ "

He hummed, scanning the middle shelves, "I know. That was my reaction too".

Crouching down, he pulled out an older Daniel Defoe work and scanned the cover of it briefly.

"But apparently, he's not the only one who thinks so, and I'm… _somewhat_ … inclined to agree".

"… Why are you telling me this?"

He replaced the book on the shelf.

"Because I've come here to do the one thing, I swore I'd never do".

"… Help me?"

"Worse" Jakes replied, standing and turning to face him, " _Apologise_ ".

Morse stared back with wide eyes, the flickering light making them look more like an evening on the Caribbean than the dark Atlantic waters outside.

" _You_ want to _apologise?_ "

"Well, I don't _want_ to" He scowled, "But I have it on very good authority that apologising is what one does when they've been…"

"A right bastard?"

His cheeky grin was back.

Jakes felt more relieved than annoyed.

"Yes" He admitted, " _That_. So. You know… I'm sorry for trying to kill you".

"That's alright. Not like I would've let you, anyway".

He stared at him, "I'm the _captain_ of a _pirate_ _ship_ ".

"And I'm quite spiteful" came his easy-going reply, "Guess who wins?"

Jakes rolled his eyes at the boy's antics but couldn't but smirk in response.

"Right. So. We good?"

"Well, I wouldn't say _good_ , but… we're getting there".

"Just until port, right?"

Morse smiled, knowingly.

"Yea. Just until port".

* * *

Turning back to the bookshelves with a far lighter heart, Jakes continued searching for the book as Morse picked up his piece of chalk once more.

"So, Oxford huh?"

He could practically _hear_ the younger man's hackles rise.

"What of it?"

Jakes bit back an automatic not-so-nice remark and kept his shoulders relaxed.

"Oh, nothing, I guess… I'm just wondering how you went from being a scholarship student in one of the greatest universities in the world to a beaten and bruised body on the floor of a passenger ship destined for the Americas".

The sound of chalk on paper abruptly stopped, and the captain turned back to face him, somewhat apprehensively. Morse was staring at the chart in front of him, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"… He got sick".

"Who did?"

"My-"

Jakes gave him a sharp look and he paused.

"… My mother's husband".

He nodded once, approvingly, and Morse gave a small smile.

"He got sick. Influenza. My sister called for me; she was the only one who knew where I'd escaped to. She had it too, of course, it was everywhere, but… but he was especially bad, and she wanted me to know. The doctor only gave him a few more days to live, a week, max".

"So you went back".

He nodded, "I know I don't owe him anything, and I don't love him, I don't even _like_ him, but I just… I don't know. I needed the closure, I guess".

Now _that_ , he could understand.

"What happened?"

The boy's smile turned bitter.

"He survived. Obviously. But Joycie…"

Jakes didn't have any siblings or any that he knew of, at least, but he _had_ lost a fair share of good men over the years and could imagine that it felt some bit similar to that.

"I'm sorry" He said, quietly, but Morse merely shook his head.

"… She didn't deserve it, you know? She wasn't like them, she was… she was _kind_ ".

He stared at the desk unseeingly for a moment before seeming to shake himself out of it.

"Either way, he survived, she didn't, and apparently, it was all my fault… I managed to hide until the funeral, but then I had to come out, had to- to say _goodbye_ … They caught me as I left the graveyard".

"You didn't fight?"

"Of course I did!" He snapped, "But Gwen was after stealing a needle from the doctor and managed to stab me in the arm with it. Everything got blurry, I passed out, and the next thing I know, I'm back in that god-awful bloody _basement_ like a terrified 15-year-old again!"

Jakes slowly nodded, leaning back against the nearest bookcase.

"When did they decide to emigrate?"

"… I don't know. A few weeks later? A month? Time didn't… It was different".

He swallowed thickly, similar memories of his own endless dark prison swarming to the surface of his mind, but he quickly shoved them back.

Maybe DeBryn was right; maybe they were more similar than he realised.

They certainly both had shit childhoods, at least, even if Morse wasn't aware of that fact.

But maybe they could be… the same in different ways?

The doctor's words echoed in his mind.

_Abuse is still abuse._

* * *

Jakes straightened up and turned back to the bookshelves, finally spotting _Robinson Crusoe_ half-buried beneath a stack of astrological charts. Pulling it out, he headed for the door, Morse already absorbed in his own work once more.

He knew first hand how draining it was to talk about a past like theirs, so chances were, the boy was just counting away the seconds until he left, so he could break down in peace. But Jakes also knew just how dangerous being alone with his thoughts _after_ talking about them could be, too.

"Hey" He said, softly, and Morse looked up in surprise.

He opened the door and gestured down the hallway.

"You wanna get dinner?"

He glanced back at the mountain of papers in front of him, and then at his chalk stained fingers. Reaching up, he put out the lantern and turned to Jakes with a smile.

"Sure".


End file.
